THE 

5ECOND 
FIDDLE 

PHYLLIS 
BOTTOME 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


"This."  Stella  thought  to  herself,  "is  like  a  battle" 


THE 
SECOND  FIDDLE 


BY 

PHYLLIS  BOTTOME 

AUTHOR  OF 
THE  DARK  TOWER,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

NORMAN   PRICE 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHE  RS 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published,  October,  1917 


Made  in  U.  S.  A. 


TO 
MARGUERITE  AND  LILIAN 

TWO  SISTERS  WHO,  ALIKE  IN  JOY 

AND  SORROW,  ARE  A  LIGHT 

TO  THEIR  FRIENDS 


2040715 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 


CHAPTER  I 

ON  the  whole,  Stella  preferred  the  Cot- 
tage Dairy  Company  to  the  People's 
Restaurant.  It  was  a  shade  more  expensive, 
but  if  you  ate  less  and  liked  it  more,  that  was 
your  own  affair.  You  were  waited  on  with 
more  arrogance  and  less  speed,  but  you  made 
up  for  that  artistically  by  an  evasion  of  visible 
grossness. 

Stella  had  never  gone  very  much  further 
than  a  ham  sandwich  in  either  place.  You 
knew  where  you  were  with  a  ham  sandwich, 
and  you  could  disguise  it  with  mustard. 

On  this  occasion  she  took  a  cup  of  tea  and 
made  her  meal  an  amalgamation.  She  hoped 
to  leave  work  early,  and  she  would  have  no 
time  for  tea.  She  was  going  to  hear  Chalia- 
pine. 

All  London — all  the  London,  that  is,  which 


4  THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

thinks  of  itself  as  London — was  raving  about 
Chaliapine ;  but  Stella  in  general  neither  knew 
nor  cared  for  the  ravings  of  London.  They 
reached  her  as  vaguely  as  the  sound  of  break- 
ing surf  reaches  the  denizens  of  the  deeper 
seas. 

It  was  her  sister  Eurydice  who  had  brought 
Chaliapine  home  to  her.  She  had  said  quite 
plainly,  with  that  intensity  which  distinguished 
both  her  utterances  and  her  actions,  that  if 
she  did  n't  hear  Chaliapine  she  would  die.  He 
was  like  an  ache  in  her  bones. 

Eurydice  had  never  discovered  that  you  can- 
not always  do  what  you  want  or  have  what 
you  very  ardently  wish  to  have.  She  believed 
that  disappointment  was  a  coincidence  or  a 
lack  of  fervency,  and  she  set  herself  before 
each  obstacle  to  her  will  like  the  prophets  of 
Baal  before  their  deaf  god.  She  cut  herself 
with  knives  till  the  blood  ran. 

Stella  hovered  anxiously  by  her  side,  stanch- 
ing, whenever  she  was  able,  the  flowing  of 
Eurydice's  blood.  On  this  occasion  she  had 
only  to  provide  seven  shillings  and  to  make, 
what  cost  her  considerably  more,  a  request  to 
Mr.  Leslie  Travers  to  let  her  off  at  five. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE  5 

Mr.  Leslie  Travers  had  eyed  her  with  the 
surprise  of  a  man  who  runs  a  perfect  machine 
and  feels  it  pause  beneath  his  fingers.  He 
could  not  remember  that  Stella  Waring  had 
ever  made  such  a  request  before. 

Her  hours  were  from  nine  to  five  daily,  but- 
automatically,  with  the  pressure  of  her  work 
and  the  increase  of  her  usefulness,  they  had 
stretched  to  six  or  seven. 

Mr.  Leslie  Travers  had  never  intended  to 
have  a  woman  secretary,  but  during  the  ill- 
ness of  a  competent  clerk  he  had  been  obliged 
to  take  a  stop-gap.  Miss  Waring  had  ap- 
peared on  a  busy  morning  with  excellent  testi- 
monials and  a  quiet  manner.  He  told  her  a 
little  shortly  that  he  did  not  want  a  woman 
in  his  office.  Her  fine,  humorous  eyebrows 
moved  upward,  and  her  speculative  gray  eyes 
rested  curiously  upon  his  irritable  brown  ones. 

"But  I  am  a  worker,"  she  said  gently.  "If 
I  can  do  your  work,  it  is  my  own  business 
whether  I  am  a  man  or  a  woman.  You  shall 
not  notice  it." 

Mr.  Travers  felt  confused  for  a  moment  and 
as  if  he  had  been  impertinent.  In  the  course 
of  a  strenuous  and  successful  life  he  had  never 


6  THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

felt  impertinent;  he  believed  it  to  be  a  quality 
found  only  in  underlings.  He  stared,  cleared 
his  throat,  read  her  testimonials,  and  tempo- 
rarily engaged  her.  That  was  two  years  ago. 

Miss  Waring  had  kept  her  promise ;  she  was 
a  worker  and  not  a  woman.  She  took  pleas- 
ure in  keeping  her  wits  about  her,  and  Mr. 
Travers  used  them  as  if  they  were  his  own. 
Sometimes  he  thought  they  were. 

She  had  many  agreeable  points  besides  her 
wits,  but  they  were  the  only  point  she  gave 
to  Mr.  Travers  to  notice.  She  deliberately 
suppressed  her  charm.  She  reduced  his  work 
by  one  half;  he  never  had  to  say,  "You  ought 
to  have  asked  me  this,"  or,  "You  need  n't  have 
brought  me  that."  Her  initiative  matched  her 
judgment. 

It  did  not  occur  to  Mr.  Travers  to  praise  her 
for  this  most  unusual  quality,  but  he  paid  her 
the  finest  tribute  of  an  efficient  worker:  he 
gave  her  more  to  do.  He  woke  up  to  that 
fact  when  she  tentatively  asked  him  if  he  could 
make  it  convenient  for  her  to  leave  at  five. 

"Five,"  he  said,  "is  your  hour  for  leaving 
this  office.  Of  course  you  may  go  then.  You 
ought  always  to  do  so." 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE  7 

A  vague  smile  hovered  about  Stella's  lips; 
she  looked  at  him  consideringly  for  a  moment, 
her  eyes  seemed  to  say,  "It  must  be  nice  for 
you,  then,  that  I  never  do  what  I  ought." 
Then  she  drew  her  secretarial  manner  like  a 
veil  over  her  face. 

"You  will  find  the  drainage  papers  for  Staf- 
ford Street  in  the  second  pigeon-hole  on  your 
desk,"  she  said  sedately,  "with  the  inspector's 
report.  I  have  put  the  plumber's  estimate 
with  it,  and  added  a  few  marginal  notes  where 
I  think  their  charges  might  be  cut  down." 

"You  had  better  see  them  about  it  yourself," 
said  Mr.  Travers;  "then  there  won't  be  any 
unpleasantness." 

He  did  not  mean  to  be  polite  to  Stella;  he 
merely  stated  a  convenient  fact.  When  Stella 
saw  people  on  business  there  was  no  unpleas- 
antness. 

Stella  bowed,  and  left  him. 

Mr.  Travers  looked  up  for  a  moment  after 
she  had  gone.  "I  am  not  sure,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "that  there  are  not  some  things  women 
can  do  better  than  men  when  they  do  not  know 
that  they  are  doing  them  better."  He  did  not 
like  to  think  that  women  had  any  superior 


8  THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

mental  qualities  to  those  of  men,  but  he  put 
them  down  to  mother  wit,  which  does  not  sound 
superior. 

Stella  went  through  the  outer  office  on 
wings.  It  was  full  of  her  friends;  her  exits 
and  her  entrances  were  the  events  the  lesser 
clerks  liked  best  during  the  day. 

Her  smile  soothed  their  feelings,  and  in  her 
eyes  reigned  always  that  other  Stella  who  lived 
behind  her  wits,  a  gay,  serene,  and  friendly 
Stella,  who  did  not  know  that  she  was  a  lady 
and  never  forgot  that  she  was  a  human  being. 

Theoretically  there  is  nothing  but  business  in 
a  business  office,  but  practically  in  every  small- 
est detail  there  is  the  pressure  of  personal  in- 
fluence. What  gets  done  or,  even  more  notice- 
ably, what  is  left  undone,  is  poised  upon  an  in- 
admissible principle,  the  desire  to  please. 

The  office  watched  Stella,  tested  her,  judged 
her,  and  once  and  for  all  made  up  its  mind  to 
please  her. 

Stella  knew  nothing  at  all  about  this  pro- 
bation. She  only  knew  all  about  the  office 
boy's  mother,  and  where  the  girl  typists  spent 
their  holidays,  and  when,  if  all  went  well,  Mr. 
Belk  would  be  able  to  marry  his  young  lady. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE  9 

Mistakes  and  panic,  telegrams  and  telephones, 
slipped  into  her  hands,  and  were  unraveled 
with  the  rapidity  with  which  silk  yields  to  ex- 
pert fingers.  She  always  made  the  stupidest 
clerk  feel  that  mistakes,  like  the  bites  of  a  mos- 
quito, might  happen  to  any  one  even  while 
she  was  making  him  see  how  to  avoid  them  in 
future.  She  had  the  touch  which  takes  the 
sting  from  small  personal  defeats.  She  al- 
ways saw  the  person  first  and  the  defeat  after- 
ward. 

Her  day's  work  was  a  game  of  patience  and 
skill,  and  she  played  it  as  she  used  to  play 
chess  with  her  father.  It  was  a  long  game  and 
sometimes  it  was  a  tiring  one,  but  hardly  a 
moment  of  it  was  not  sheer  drama;  and  the 
moment  the  town  hall  door  swung  behind  her 
she  forgot  her  municipal  juggling  and  started 
the  drama  of  play. 

On  Thursday  afternoon  she  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment considering  her  course.  There  was  the 
Underground,  which  was  always  quickest,  or 
there  was  the  drive  above  the  golden  summer 
dust  on  the  swinging  height  of  a  motor-bus. 
She  decided  upon  the  second  alternative,  and 
slipped  into  infinity.  She  was  cut  off  from 


10          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

duty,  surrounded  by  strangers,  unmoored 
from  her  niche  in  the  world. 

This  was  the  moment  of  her  day  which  Stella 
liked  best ;  in  it  she  could  lose  her  own  identity. 
She  let  her  hands  rest  on  her  lap  and  her  eyes 
on  the  soft  green  of  the  new-born  leaves.  She 
hung  balanced  on  her  wooden  seat  between 
earth  and  sky,  on  her  way  to  Russian  music. 

The  brief  and  tragic  youth  of  London  trees 
was  at  its  loveliest.  Kensington  Gardens 
poured  past  her  like  a  golden  flame.  The 
grass  was  as  fresh  as  the  grass  of  summer 
fields,  swallows  flitted  over  it,  and  the  broad- 
shouldered  elms  were  wrapped  delicately  in  a 
mist  of  green. 

Hyde  Park  Corner  floated  beneath  her ;  the 
bronze  horses  of  victory,  compact  and  sturdy, 
trundled  out  of  a  cloudless  sky.  St  George's 
Hospital,  sun-baked  and  brown,  glowed  like 
an  ancient  palace  of  the  Renaissance.  The 
traffic  surged  down  Hamilton  Place  and  along 
Piccadilly  as  close  packed  as  migratory  birds. 
The  tower  of  Westminster  Cathedral  dropped 
its  alien  height  into  an  Italian  blue  sky ;  across 
the  vista  of  the  green  park  and  all  down  Picca- 
dilly the  clubs  flashed  past  her,  vast,  silver 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          11 

spaces  of  comfort  reserved  for  men,  full  of 
men.  Stella  did  not  know  very  much  about 
men  who  lived  in  clubs.  Cicely  said  they  were 
very  wicked  and  danced  the  tango  and  did  n't 
want  women  to  have  votes ;  but  Stella  thought 
they  looked  as  if  they  had  attractions  which 
rivaled  these  disabilities. 

Probably  she  would  see  some  of  them  less 
kaleidoscopically  at  the  opera  later. 

Even  men  who  danced  the  tango  went  to 
hear  Chaliapine.  It  was  n't  only  his  voice ;  he 
was  a  rage,  a  prairie  fire.  All  other  conversa- 
tion became  burned  stubble  at  his  name. 

Piccadilly  Circus  shot  past  her  like  a  bed  of 
flowers. 

The  City  was  very  hot,  and  all  the  world  was 
in  the  streets,  expansive  and  genial.  It  was 
the  hour  when  work  draws  to  an  end  and  night 
is  still  far  off.  Pleasure  had  stretched  down 
the  scale  and  included  workers.  People  who 
did  n't  dance  the  tango  bought  strawberries 
and  flowers  off  barrows  for  wonderful  prices 
to  take  home  to  their  children. 

In  the  queue  extending  half-way  down 
Drury  Lane,  Eurydice,  passionate  and  heavy- 
eyed,  was  waiting  for  Stella. 


12          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"If  you  had  n't  come  soon,"  she  said,  draw- 
ing Stella's  arm  through  her  own,  "something 
awful  would  have  happened  to  me.  I  got  a 
messenger-boy  to  stand  here  for  an  hour  to 
keep  your  place.  The  suspense  has  been 
agony,  like  waiting  for  the  guillotine." 

"But,  O  Eurydice  dear,  I  do  hope  you  will 
enjoy  it!"  Stella  pleaded. 

"I  shall  enjoy  it,  yes,"  said  Eurydice,  gloom- 
ily, "if  I  can  bear  it.  I  don't  suppose  you  un- 
derstand, but  when  you  feel  things  as  poign- 
antly as  I  do,  almost  anything  is  like  the 
guillotine.  It  is  the  death  of  something,  even 
if  it 's  only  suspense.  Besides,  he  may  not  be 
what  I  think  him.  I  expect  the  opening  of 
heaven." 

Eurydice  usually  expected  heaven  to  open, 
and  this  is  sometimes  rather  hard  upon  the 
openings  of  less  grandiose  places. 

A  stout  woman  in  purple  raised  an  efficient 
elbow  like  an  oar  and  dug  it  sharply  into 
Stella's  side. 

"Oh,  Stella,  would  n't  it  be  awful  if  I  fainted 
before  the  door  opens!"  whispered  Eurydice. 

"The  doors  are  opening,"  said  Stella. 
"People  have  begun  to  plunge  with  umbrellas." 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          13 

The  purple  woman  renewed  her  rowing  mo- 
tion; the  patient  queue  expanded  like  a  fan. 
Stella  moved  forward  in  the  throng.  She  was 
pushed  and  elbowed,  lifted  and  driven,  but  she 
never  stopped  being  aware  of  delight.  She 
watched  the  faces  sweeping  past  her  like  petals 
on  a  stream;  she  flung  down  her  half-crowns 
and  seized  her  metal  disks,  dashing  on  and  up 
the  narrow  stairs,  with  Eurydice  fiercely  strug- 
gling behind  her  like  a  creature  in  danger  of 
drowning. 

They  sprang  up  and  over  the  back  ledges 
of  the  gallery  on  into  the  first  row,  breathless, 
gasping,  and  victorious. 

"How  horrible  people  are!"  gasped  Eury- 
dice. "Dozens  of  brutal  men  have  stepped  on 
my  toe.  Your  hat 's  crooked.  Is  anything 
worth  this  dreadful  mingling  with  a  mob?" 

"Does  one  mingle  really?"  asked  Stella,  tak- 
ing off  her  hat.  "Only  one's  shoulders.  Be- 
sides, I  think  I  rather  like  mobs  if  they  are  n't 
purple  and  don't  dig.  I  Ve  just  been  thinking 
how  dull  it  must  be  to  walk  into  a  box  having 
done  nothing  but  pay  for  it,  and  knowing,  too, 
you  are  going  to  get  it!  The  lady  beside  me 
has  been  to  every  opera  this  season.  She  sits 


14          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

on  a  camp-stool  from  two  o'clock  till  eight 
with  milk  chocolate,  and  knows  every  one's 
name  and  all  the  motives  and  most  of  the 
scores.  She  's  going  to  lend  me  this  one.  She 
says  the  excitement  of  not  knowing  whether 
she  is  going  to  get  a  front  seat  or  not  has  never 
palled." 

The  great  opera  house  filled  slowly.  There 
was  splendor  in  it — the  splendor  put  on  for 
the  occasion  in  the  cheaper  seats,  and  every-day 
splendor  taking  its  place  later  and  more  expen- 
sively because  it  did  not  know  how  to  be  any- 
thing else  but  splendid. 

Women's  dresses  that  summer  were  made 
as  much  as  possible  to  resemble  underclothes. 
From  the  waist  upwards  filmy  specimens  of 
petticoat  bodices  appeared ;  there  were  wonder- 
ful jewels  to  be  seen  above  them:  immemorial 
family  jewels,  collars  of  rubies  and  pearls. 
The  older  the  woman,  the  finer  the  jewels,  and 
the  more  they  looked  like  ancient  mosaics  glim- 
mering archaically  in  early  Roman  churches. 

The  safety  curtain  was  lowered  reassuringly 
before  a  bored  audience  that  was  not  afraid  of 
danger. 

Some  one  on  the  left  of  Stella  remarked  that 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          15 

there  was  a  rumor  that  the  Crown  Prince  and 
Princess  of  Austria  had  been  assassinated  in 
Serbia.  It  did  not  sound  very  likely.  The 
Russian  music  began — fiery  melancholy  music, 
drunk  with  sorrow.  Then  the  real  curtain 
rose. 

Eurydice  flung  herself  forward;  she  hung 
over  the  ledge,  poised  like  an  exultant  Fury. 
She  dared  life  to  disappoint  her. 

Stella  leaned  back  in  her  seat  with  a  little 
thrill  of  excitement.  Everything  felt  so  safe, 
and  sorrow  sounded  beautiful,  and  far  away. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  curtain  lifted,  and  civilization  swung 
back.  They  were  in  Russia  in  the 
twelfth  century — or  any  other  time.  It 
hardly  mattered  when;  the  music  was  the  per- 
petual music  of  the  Slav,  tragic  and  insecure. 
The  people  were  a  restless  barbaric  crowd,  be- 
yond or  beneath  morality;  religious,  incalcu- 
lably led  by  sensation.  They  could  be  unim- 
aginably cruel  or  sweep  magnificently  up  the 
paths  of  holiness.  The  steep  ascent  to  heaven 
was  in  their  eyes,  and  they  got  drunk  to  attain 
it. 

The  English  audience  watched  them  as  if 
they  were  looking  at  a  fairy-tale.  They  were 
a  well-fed,  complacent  audience.  If  they  got 
drunk,  it  was  an  accident,  and  none  of  them 
had  ever  been  holy.  They  had  never  been  un- 
der the  heels  of  tyranny  or  long  without  a  meal. 
They  took  for  granted  food,  water,  light,  and 
fuel.  They  began  to  live  where  the  Russian 

16 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          17 

peasant  planted  his  dreams  of  heaven.  Death 
was  their  only  uncertainty,  and  it  was  hidden 
behind  the  baffling  insincerities  of  doctors  and 
nurses.  It  did  not  take  them  on  the  raw. 

The  crowd  upon  the  stage  became  suddenly 
shaken  into  movement.  Fires  were  lighted, 
bells  rang,  food  was  carried  about  in  proces- 
sions. Cossacks  with  long  knouts  struck  back 
the  dazzled,  scattering  people.  A  proclama- 
tion was  read  by  a  great  person  from  a  bediz- 
ened balcony. 

Stella  knew  no  Russian ;  she  had  no  idea  that 
anything  worse  could  happen  to  this  se- 
riously broken  people  ruled  by  knouts.  But 
there  was  still  something  that  could  happen: 
this  proclamation  touched  their  religion. 

It  seemed  that  they  actually  had  a  posses- 
sion that  they  were  n't  prepared  to  let  go. 
They  could  let  their  daughters  and  sons  go, 
their  houses  and  their  lives ;  but  there  was  some- 
thing they  held  on  to  and  refused  to  renounce. 

This  was  enough  to  irritate  any  tyrant. 
The  bare  existence  of  anything  that  is  uncon- 
trollable always  annoys  a  tyrant.  There  was 
a  power  in  these  people  still  unsubdued,  so  the 
proclamation  said  that  unless  they  gave  up 


18          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

their  religion  and  became  orthodox  they  would 
be  killed.  Then  Chaliapine  entered. 

Eurydice  gave  a  long  gasp  of  emotion,  and 
sank  silently  into  her  dream;  no  more  could 
be  expected  of  her  as  a  companion.  Stella  en- 
deavored to  be  more  critical.  She  felt  at  once 
that  Chaliapine's  power  was  n't  his  voice.  It 
was  a  fine,  controlled  voice,  it  seemed  more  res- 
onant and  alive  than  any  other  in  the  company, 
and  vastly  easier;  but  his  genius  was  behind 
his  voice.  It  was  not  merely  his  acting,  though 
immediately  every  one  else  on  the  stage  ap- 
peared to  be  acting,  and  Chaliapine  alone  was 
real. 

It  consisted  in  that  very  uncontrollable 
something  that  tyrants  cannot  kill,  that  cir- 
cumstances do  not  touch,  that  surmounts 
every  stroke  of  fate,  and  is  the  residuum  which 
faces  death.  There  was  a  little  more  of  it  in 
Chaliapine  than  there  is  in  most  people. 

She  tried  to  follow  the  score  of  "Boris 
Goudonoff";  it  was  not  easy  music,  and  the 
story  hardly  seemed  to  matter. 

Chaliapine  was  the  leader  of  the  religious 
sect  that  the  Czar  was  going  to  stamp  out. 
Everything  was  against  him ;  was  he  going  to 


A  proclamation  was  read  by  a  great  person  from  a  bedizened  balcony 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          21 

conquer  ?  The  English  audience  expected  him 
to  conquer.  It  understood  conquests.  First, 
you  started  all  wrong,  because  you  had  n't 
taken  the  trouble  not  to,  because  you  had  n't 
measured  your  antagonist,  and  because  you  did 
not  think  that  preparation  was  necessary. 

The  audience  allowed  for  things  going 
wrong  to  begin  with,  and  sat  cheerfully  expect- 
ing the  miracle. 

The  opera  went  on,  and  it  became  apparent 
to  Stella  that  Chaliapine  was  not  going  to  get 
his  people  out  of  their  difficulties. 

They  sank  deeper  and  deeper  into  them. 
Tyranny  was  behind  and  in  front  of  them; 
they  were  being  steadily  hemmed  in  and  beaten 
down.  What  they  held  on  to  did  them  no  ap- 
parent good ;  it  did  n't  comfort  them  or  relieve 
their  necessities  or  hold  out  a  helping  hand  to 
them.  It  did  nothing  against  their  enemies. 
It  simply  burned  in  them  like  a  flame.  It 
did  n't  even  consume  them ;  it  left  them  to  be 
consumed  by  the  Czar. 

The  English  audience  listened  breathlessly 
and  a  little  surprised,  but  not  troubled,  because 
they  felt  quite  sure  that  everything  would  come 
out  all  right  in  the  last  act. 


22          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Religion  would  triumph,  it  always  did,  even 
when  you  took  no  notice  of  it. 

You  did  n't,  as  a  rule,  notice  the  police 
either,  and  yet  when  burglars  broke  in  to  steal 
your  plate,  they  were  caught  climbing  over  the 
back  fence  by  a  policeman.  Religion  was 
there,  like  the  police,  to  catch  your  troubles  and 
restore  your  spiritual  silver  plate. 

The  melancholy  minor  Russian  music 
could  n't  mean  that  you  were  n't  going  to  get 
anything  out  of  it.  It  would  wake  up  soon 
and  be  triumphant. 

In  the  pauses  between  the  acts  Eurydice  sat 
in  a  trance.  Stella  amused  herself  with  pick- 
ing out  the  kind  of  people  she  would  have  liked 
to  know.  One  in  particular  in  a  box  to  the 
right  of  them,  she  found  herself  liking.  His 
frosty-blue  eyes  had  the  consciousness  of 
strength  in  them;  the  line  of  his  jaw  and  the 
ironic,  well-chiseled  mouth  spoke  of  a  will  that 
had  felt  and  surmounted  shocks.  He  was  still 
a  young  man  in  the  early  thirties,  but  he  had 
made  his  place  in  the  world.  He  looked  as 
secure  as  royalty.  With  a  strange  little  thrill 
that  was  almost  resentment  Stella  realized  that 
she  knew  the  woman  beside  him.  Marian  sat 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE  23 

there  very  straight  and  slim  in  the  guarded 
radiance  of  her  youth,  as  intact  as  some  pre- 
cious ivory  in  a  museum.  She  was  Stella's 
greatest  friend;  that  is  to  say,  she  gave  to  her 
the  greatest  amount  of  pleasure  procurable  in 
her  life. 

Stella  couldn't  have  told  why  her  heart 
sprang  to  meet  Marian  Young's.  She  had 
nothing  in  common  with  her.  They  had  met 
at  a  course  of  lectures  on  the  Renaissance,  and 
out  of  a  casual  meeting  had  grown  a  singular, 
unequal,  relationship. 

Marian  saw  Stella  very  rarely,  but  she  told 
her  everything.  She  had  n't,  however,  told  her 
of  this  new  man.  His  strong,  clever  face  had 
in  it  something  different,  something  unneces- 
sarily different,  from  Marian's  other  young 
men. 

He  lifted  his  head,  and  looked  up  toward  the 
balconies  above  him.  His  eyes  did  not  meet 
Stella's,  but  she  took  from  them  the  strangest 
sensation  of  her  life.  A  pang  of  sheer  pity 
shot  through  her.  There  was  no  reason  for 
pity;  he  looked  aggressively  strong  and  per- 
fectly sure  of  himself.  He  even  looked  sure 
of  Marian,  and  not  without  reason.  He  was 


24          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

all  the  things  Marian  liked  best  in  a  man, 
courageous,  successful,  handsome.  Provi- 
dence had  thrown  in  his  brains.  That  was  the 
unnecessary  quality. 

Stella  wondered  a  little  wistfully  what  it 
must  be  like  to  talk  to  a  really  clever  man. 
Her  father  was  very  clever,  but  he  was  not 
socially  pliable,  and  he  did  n't  exactly  talk  to 
Stella;  he  merely  expressed  in  her  presence 
conclusions  at  which  he  had  arrived.  It  clari- 
fied his  ideas,  but  it  didn't  do  anything  par- 
ticular to  Stella's. 

Sir  Richard  Verny  was  taking  trouble  to 
talk  to  Marian;  he  bent  his  powerful  head  to- 
ward the  girl  and  told  her  about  Siberia.  He 
knew  Siberia  well;  he  had  often  started  from 
there  upon  important  Arctic  explorations. 
Marian  wondered  when  he  was  going  to  pro- 
pose. Siberia  did  as  well  as  anything  else  till 
then.  She  knew  he  was  going  to  propose ;  she 
didn't  know  anything  at  all  about  Siberia. 
She  did  not  see  Stella;  it  had  not  occurred 
to  her  that  any  one  she  knew  could  be  sitting 
in  the  gallery. 

The  curtain  rose  again,  and  the  last  act  be- 
gan. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          25 

Chaliapine  did  not  turn  defeat  into  victory; 
no  rabbit  rose  triumphantly,  to  satisfy  the 
British  public,  out  of  a  top-hat.  Chaliapine 
led  his  people  into  a  fire,  and  they  were  burned 
to  death. 

Some  of  them  were  frightened,  and  he  had 
to  comfort  them,  to  hold  them,  and  sustain 
them  till  the  end.  He  had  nothing  at  all  to 
do  it  with,  but  he  did  sustain  them.  They  all 
went  into  the  flames,  singing  their  dishearten- 
ing music  till  the  smoke  covered  them.  Chal- 
iapine sang  longest,  but  there  was  nothing  vic- 
torious in  his  last  notes.  They  were  very 
beautiful  and  final;  then  they  weakened  and 
were  still. 

The  stillness  went  on  for  some  time  after- 
ward. Everybody  had  been  killed,  and  life 
had  been  so  unendurable  that  they  had  faced 
death  without  much  effort  to  avoid  it.  They 
could  have  avoided  it  if  they  had  given  up  their 
faith.  Their  faith  had  vanished  off  the  face 
of  the  earth,  but  they  had  n't  given  it  up. 

Stella  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief;  she  felt 
as  if  she  had  been  saved  from  something  abom- 
inable that  might  have  happened. 

Applause  broke  out  all  round  them,  a  little 


26          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

uncertainly  at  first,  because  it  was  difficult  for 
the  audience  to  realize  that  the  heavens  were  n't 
going  to  shoot  open  and  do  something  defi- 
nitely successful  about  it ;  but  finally  sustained 
and  prolonged  applause.  Chaliapine  had 
taken  them  all  by  storm.  It  was  not  the  kind 
of  storm  that  they  were  used  to,  but  it  was  a 
storm. 

"I  love  Russians,"  a  lady  exclaimed  to 
Stella.  "Such  delightful  people,  don't  you 
think,  so  full  of  color  and  what  d'  you  call  it?" 

Eurydice  shook  herself  impatiently  like  a 
dog  after  a  plunge  through  water. 

"Hurry!  Let's  get  out  of  this,"  she  said 
to  Stella,  "or  I  shall  be  rude  to  somebody. 
Idiots!  Idiots!  Don't  they  see  that  we've 
been  listening  to  the  defeat  of  the  soul?" 

"No,  no,"  whispered  Stella  half  to  herself; 
"we've  been  listening  to  how  it  can't  be  de- 
feated, how  nothing  touches  it,  not  even  death, 
not  even  despair,  not  even  flames.  The  end 
of  something  that  has  never  given  in  is  vic- 
tory." 

They  passed  behind  Marian  outside  the 
opera  house,  but  Stella  did  not  speak  to  her. 
She  heard  Sir  Julian  saying  in  a  determined, 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          27 

resonant  voice:  "Well,  of  course  I'm  glad 
you  liked  it.  Chaliapine  is  a  good  workman, 
but  personally  I  don't  think  much  of  Russian 
music.  It  has  a  whine  in  it  like  a  beggar's, 
sounds  too  much  as  if  it  had  knocked  under. 
My  idea,  you  know,  is  not  to  knock  under." 

And  Stella,  slipping  into  the  crowd,  was 
aware  again  of  a  sharp  pang  of  pity  for  him, 
as  if  she  knew  that,  after  all,  his  strength  would 
meet  and  be  consumed  by  fire. 


CHAPTER  III 

NOTHING  in  No.  9  Redcliff  Square  ever 
got  done;  it  happened,  as  leaves  drop  in 
autumn,  or  as  dust  accumulates,  percolating 
softly  and  persistently  through  doors  and  win- 
dows. 

The  Warings  had  reached  Redcliff  Square 
as  accidentally  as  a  tramp  takes  shelter  under 
a  hedge.  Professor  Waring,  whose  instinct 
was  to  burrow  like  a  mole,  blind  and  silent, 
into  his  researches,  failed  too  completely  to 
teach  what  he  had  discovered;  and  as  he  had 
never  made  the  discovery  that  teaching  was 
what  he  was  paid  for,  his  payments  gradually 
ceased.  When  he  found  himself  faced  with 
an  increasing  family  and  a  decreasing  income, 
he  thought  of  the  South  Kensington  Museum. 
He  thought  of  it  as  an  habitual  drunkard 
evicted  for  not  paying  his  rent,  thinks  of  the 
public  house. 

He  brought  his  family  as  near  to  it  as  he 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          29 

could,  dumped  them  down  in  a  silent  and  slat- 
ternly street,  and  disappeared  into  the  museum 
regularly  every  morning  at  nine.  When  he 
came  out  he  wanted  only  cocoa,  a  back  room, 
and  the  postage  necessary  for  his  researches. 
A  Peruvian  mummy  went  to  his  head  like 
gin. 

Mrs.  Waring  had  been  a  gentle,  dreamy 
girl  with  a  strong  religious  tendency.  She 
had  married  Professor  Waring  because  he  had 
wide  blue  eyes  and  a  stoop  and  did  not  look  at 
all  coarse. 

Professor  Waring  had  married  her  because 
he  wanted  to  get  married  a  little  and  had 
noticed  her  at  that  time.  He  was  under  the 
impression  that  women  managed  households, 
meals,  and  children  without  bothering  their 
husbands.  Mrs.  Waring  tried  not  to  bother 
her  husband.  She  lost  her  religion  because  the 
professor  hadn't  any,  and  she  thought  at 
first  he  was  sure  to  be  right.  When  she  ceased 
to  have  this  magic  certainty,  she  sought  out 
fresh  religions  that  told  you  you  had  every- 
thing you  wanted  when  you  knew  you  had  n't. 

She  got  through  maternity  in  a  desultory 
way,  with  a  great  deal  of  ill  health  and  enor- 


30          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

mous  household  bills.  She  did  not  manage 
anything,  and  when  she  was  very  unhappy  she 
said  that  she  was  in  tune  with  the  infinite. 

From  their  earliest  years  her  children  fended 
for  themselves,  Eurydice  with  storms  of  an- 
guish and  through  a  drastic  series  of  childish 
epidemics ;  Cicely  with  a  stolid,  cold  efficiency ; 
and  Stella  with  an  intuitive  gentleness  so  great 
as  to  hide  a  certain  inner  force. 

About  two  hundred  pounds  a  year  trickled 
in  on  them  from  uncertain  sources.  Mrs. 
Waring  never  knew  quite  when  to  expect  it, 
and  when  it  came  it  soaked  itself  solemnly  up 
on  non-essentials.  The  children  never  had 
proper  clothes  or  a  suitable  education.  They 
were  Egyptologists  before  they  could  spell, 
and  the  Koran  was  an  open  book  to  them  when 
they  should  have  been  reading  "The  Water 
Babies." 

The  professor  spent  what  he  considered  his 
share  of  their  income  upon  hieroglyphics,  and 
Mrs.  Waring,  never  personally  extravagant, 
bought  quantities  of  little  books  to  teach  peo- 
ple how  to  live,  how  to  develop  the  will,  how  to 
create  a  memory,  and  power  through  repose. 
They  had  one  servant,  who  had  to  have  wages 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          31 

and  insisted  every  now  and  then  upon  a  joint 
of  meat. 

There  was  no  waste-paper  basket  in  the 
house,  and  a  great  deal  of  linoleum.  When 
Mrs.  Waring  made  up  her  mind  that  she  must 
be  more  economical,  she  always  went  out  and 
bought  linoleum.  She  had  been  told  it  was  a 
great  saving.  She  never  tidied  anything  up 
or  put  anything  away.  What  was  lost  was 
never  seen  again,  or  seen  only  when  you  were 
hunting  for  something  else.  It  was  like  a 
gambler's  system  at  Monte  Carlo :  you  looked 
for  a  bootjack,  and  were  rewarded  by  black 
treacle;  or  you  played,  as  it  were,  for  black 
treacle,  and  discovered  the  bootjack. 

Mrs.  Waring  never  finished  anything;  even 
her  conversations,  which  began  at  breakfast, 
jogged  on  throughout  the  day,  and  were 
picked  up  at  much  the  same  spot  in  the  even- 
ing. She  had  covered  a  quantity  of  ground, 
but  she  had  invariably  escaped  her  destination. 
Through  long  years  of  perpetual  indecision  she 
had  nearly  succeeded  in  outwitting  time  and 
space. 

Nobody  minded  this  attitude  except  Cicely. 
She  fought  against  chaos  from  her  youth  up. 


32          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

They  all  dreaded  her  tongue  and  clung  per- 
sistently to  their  habits.  The  professor  fled 
earlier  to  the  museum,  sometimes  in  carpet 
slippers.  Immediately  after  breakfast  Mrs. 
Waring  retired  with  a  little  book  to  an  un- 
tidied  bedroom. 

Eurydice,  dropping  manuscripts,  hair- 
ribbons,  and  defiance,  escaped  to  a  locked 
attic;  and  Stella  remained  as  a  gentle  adjutant 
to  her  severer  sister.  Cicely  did  get  a  few 
things  done.  She  saw  that  meals  were  cooked, 
windows  opened,  beds  made,  and  clocks 
wound;  but  nothing  continuous  rewarded  her 
efforts.  The  power  of  the  human  will  is  a 
small  weapon  against  consolidated  inertia. 

For  five  years  Cicely  played  upon  No.  9 
Redcliff  Square  like  an  intermittent  search- 
light; then  she  gave  it  up,  and  became  a 
student  in  a  wromen's  hospital.  The  house- 
hold breathed  a  sigh  of  intense  relief  at  her  de- 
parture, and  collapsed  benevolently  into  chaos. 

Nobody  except  Stella  regretted  it.  The 
professor  was  openly  thankful. 

"She  may  become  a  student,"  he  observed 
coldly  when  it  was  explained  to  him  where 
Cicely  had  gone,  "but  she  will  never  become  a 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          33 

scholar.  She  has  a  superficial  hunger  for  the 
definite. 

"I  really  do  not  think  it  will  be  necessary 
for  me  to  take  my  supper  at  a  given  hour. 
Stella  will  know  that,  whenever  I  ring  my  bell, 
I  mean  cocoa." 

"Dear  Cicely  is  a  pioneer,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Waring,  with  a  gentle  sigh.  "I  can  always 
imagine  her  doing  wonderful  things  in  a  desert 
with  a  buffalo." 

"Now  I  shall  be  able  to  have  my  friends  at 
the  house  without  their  being  insulted,"  cried 
Eurydice,  triumphantly.  "Last  time  when 
Mr.  Bolt  was  in  the  middle  of  reading  his  new 
poem,  'The  Whirl,'  a  most  delicate  and  diffi- 
cult poem  set  to  a  secret  rhythm,  Cicely  burst 
in  and  asked  for  the  slop-pail.  It  looked  so 
lovely!  I  had  covered  it  with  autumn  leaves 
and  placed  it  half-way  up  the  chimney.  It 
might  have  been  a  Grecian  urn,  but  of  course 
she  dragged  it  out.  She  drags  out  every- 
thing." 

Eurydice  had  a  profession,  too.  She  was  a 
suppressed  artist.  She  felt  that  she  could 
have  painted  like  Van  Gogh,  only  perfectly  in- 
dividually. She  saw  everything  in  terms  of 


B4          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

color  and  in  the  shape  of  cubes.  Railway  lines 
reminded  her  of  a  flight  of  asterisks.  Flowers 
subdivided  themselves  before  her  like  a  tartan 
plaid.  She  saw  human  beings  in  tenuous  and 
disjointed  outlines  suggestive  of  a  daddy-long- 
legs. She  could  not  afford  paint  and  canvas, 
so  she  had  to  leave  people  to  think  that  the 
world  looked  much  as  usual. 

Eurydice  had  always  felt  that  she  could 
write  out  her  thoughts  as  soon  as  she  and 
Stella  were  alone  and  able  to  arrange  her  room 
in  black  and  scarlet.  When  Cicely  left,  Stella 
bought  black  paper  and  pasted  it  over  the 
walls,  and  dyed  a  white-wool  mat,  which  had 
long  lost  its  original  purity,  a  sinister  scarlet. 

Eurydice  did  not  want  very  much,  either. 
None  of  the  Warings  wanted  very  much. 
What  as  a  family  they  failed  to  understand 
was,  that  not  having  the  money  to  pay  for  what 
they  wanted,  some  more  personal  contribution 
of  time  and  effort  was  necessary  in  order  to  at- 
tain it. 

Stella  grasped  this  fact  when  she  was  about 
eighteen.  She  said  afterward  that  she  never 
would  have  thought  of  it  if  it  had  not  been 
made  plain  to  her  by  Cicely.  Still,  before 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          35 

Cicely  had  gone  to  the  hospital  Stella  was  tak- 
ing cheap  lessons  in  the  City  in  shorthand  and 
type-writing.  None  of  the  three  girls  had 
what  is  called  any  "youth."  They  were  as  ig- 
norant of  young  men  as  if  they  had  been 
brought  up  in  a  convent.  Neither  Professor 
nor  Mrs.  Waring  had  ever  supposed  that  par- 
ents ought  to  provide  occupations  or  social  re- 
sources for  their  children,  and  the  children 
themselves  had  been  too  busy  contributing  to 
the  family  welfare  to  manage  any  other  life. 
Cicely  had  read  statistics  and  mastered  physio- 
logical facts  at  fifteen.  She  was  under  the 
impression  that  she  knew  everything  and  dis- 
liked everything  except  work.  Her  feeling 
for  men  was  singularly  like  that  of  a  medieval 
and  devout  monk  toward  women.  She  had  an 
uncomfortable  knowledge  of  them  as  a  neces- 
sary evil,  to  be  evaded  only  by  truculence  or 
flight.  When  her  work  forced  her  into  deal- 
ings with  them,  she  was  ferocious  and  unat- 
tractive. She  was  a  pretty  girl,  but  nobody 
had  ever  dared  to  mention  it  to  her. 

Even  Stella,  who  in  an  unaggressive,  flitting 
way  dared  most  questions,  had  avoided  telling 
Cicely  that  she  herself  liked  men.  Stella  of  tea 


36          THE  SECOXD  FIDDLE 

felt  that  if  she  could  meet  a  man  who  was  ca- 
pable of  doing  all  kinds  of  dull  things  for  you, 
very  charmingly,  and  had  a  pretty  wit,  it  would 
add  quite  enormously  to  the  gaiety  of  life  to 
put  yourself  out  a  little  in  order  to  make  him 
laugh. 

The  men  Stella  worked  with  would  n't  have 
done  at  all.  They  would  n't  have  cared  for 
the  kind  of  jokes  Stella  wanted  to  make,  and 
of  course  Stella  had  n't  time  to  meet  any  other 
men.  Perhaps  she  wouldn't  have  believed 
there  were  any  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Marian. 
Marian  knew  them ;  she  knew  them  literally  in 
dozens,  and  they  were  generally  in  love  with 
her,  and  they  always  wanted  to  make  her 
laugh  and  to  do  dull  things  for  her.  Stella 
used  to  be  afraid  sometimes  that  Marian,  in  an 
embarrassment  of  riches,  might  overlook  her 
destiny.  But  Marian  knew  what  she  wanted 
and  was  perfectly  certain  that  she  would  sooner 
or  later  get  it.  Stella  had  no  such  knowledge ; 
she  had  long  ago  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  simplest  way  of  dealing  with  her  life  was 
to  like  what  she  had. 

She  took  a  scientific  secretaryship  at  nine- 
teen, and  left  it  only  at  twenty-six,  when  her 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          37 

scientist,  who  was  very  stout  and  nearly  sixty, 
died  inconveniently  from  curried  lobster.  He 
left  Stella  an  interesting  experience,  of  which 
she  could  make  no  immediate  use,  and  a  testi- 
monial which  won  her  job  at  the  town  hall. 
It  was  very  short.  "This  young  woman,"  the 
learned  scientist  wrote,  "is  invaluable.  She 
thinks  without  knowing  it.  I  have  benefited 
by  this  blessed  process  for  seven  years." 

It  did  not  seem  to  Stella  that  she  was  in- 
valuable. She  always  saw  herself  in  the  light 
of  the  family  failure,  overlooking  the  fact  that 
she  was  their  main  financial  support. 

Cicely  was  the  practical  and  Eurydice  the 
intellectual  genius ;  but  she  was  content  if  she 
could  be  the  padding  on  which  these  jewels  oc- 
casionally shone. 

Sometimes  she  met  Cicely  in  a  tea-shop  and 
had  a  real  talk,  but  Eurydice  was  her  chief 
companion.  Eurydice  shared  with  Stella 
nearly  every  thought  that  she  had.  She 
seized  her  on  the  stairs  to  retail  her  inspira- 
tions as  Stella  went  up  to  take  her  things  off. 
She  sat  on  her  bed  late  at  night,  and  talked 
with  interminable  bitterness  about  the  sharp- 
ness of  life.  Even  while  Stella  buttoned  up 


38          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

her  boots  and  flung  things  at  the  last  moment 
into  her  despatch-case,  Eurydice  pelted  her 
with  epigrams.  She  sometimes  quoted  Swin- 
burne while  Stella  was  jumping  on  the  corner 
bus,  till  the  bus-conductor  told  her  not  to  let 
him  catch  her  at  it  again.  There  was  only  one 
subject  they  did  not  discuss:  neither  of  them 
voluntarily  mentioned  Mr.  Bolt.  Mr.  Bolt 
was  the  editor  of  a  magazine  called  "Shocks," 
to  wThich  Eurydice  with  trembling  delight  con- 
tributed weekly.  Mr.  Bolt  had  met  her  at  a 
meeting  of  protest  against  Reticence,  and  he 
had  taken  to  Eurydice  at  once;  and  almost  at 
once  he  told  her  that  her  charm  was  purely  in- 
tellectual. Emotionally  he  was  appealed  to 
only  by  fair,  calm  women  with  ample  figures. 
Mr.  Bolt  knew  plenty  of  fair,  calm  women 
with  ample  figures.  Eurydice  only  knew  Mr. 
Bolt.  She  made  an  idol  of  him,  and  he  used 
her  like  a  door-mat.  No  early- Victorian 
woman  ever  bore  from  a  male  tyrant  what 
poor,  passionate  twentieth-century  Eurydice 
bore  from  Mr.  Bolt,  and  Stella  could  not  help 
her.  Stella  abhorred  Mr.  Bolt.  She  would 
not  listen  to  his  Delphic  oracle  utterances  upon 
style  and  art  and  life.  She  was  outraged  at 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          39 

his  comments  upon  sex.  She  was  desperately, 
fiercely  angry  with  a  secret  maternal  anger 
that  Eurydice  should  have  to  listen  to  these  ut- 
terances. It  carried  her  as  far  as  an  abortive 
appeal  to  her  mother. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Waring,  placidly, 
"these  things  are  outworn.  They  are  stulti- 
fied thought  products;  they  do  not  really  ex- 
ist. Sex  is  like  dust  upon  the  house-tops;  a 
cleansing  process  will  shortly  remove  it.  Mr. 
Bolt  is  a  misconception,  a  floating  microcosm. 
I  really  should  not  bother  about  Mr.  Bolt.  He 
is  not  nearly  so  tangible  as  the  butcher,  and  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  never  really  again  to 
bother  about  the  butcher.  Perhaps  you  will 
see  him  for  me  if  he  calls  about  his  bill  to- 
morrow. 

"It  seems  so  strange  to  me  that  business  men 
should  not  understand  that  when  there  is  no 
money  bills  cannot  be  paid.  Even  the  minor 
regions  of  fact  seem  closed  to  them." 

Stella  agreed  to  dip  into  the  minor  regions 
of  fact  with  the  butcher,  but  she  went  on 
bothering  about  Mr.  Bolt.  It  seemed  to. 
Stella  that  he  was  the  only  real  bother  that  she 
had. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Darling: 

Do  come  Sunday  to  tea.  Mama  is  out  of  town,  and 
I  must  have  some  support.  Julian  is  going  to  bring 
his  mother  to  see  me  for  the  first  time.  I  believe  she'  s 
rather  alarming  —  awfully  blue  and  booky;  just  your 
sort.  I  have  n't  had  time  to  tell  you  anything.  It 's 
so  jolly  being  engaged;  but  it  takes  up  all  one's  spare 
moments.  I  didn't  mean  to  marry  Julian;  he  swept 
me  off  my  feet.  I  suppose  I  must  be  awfully  in  love 
with  him.  You  know  what  explorers  are.  They  go 
away  for  years  and  leave  you  to  entertain  alone,  and 
then  people  say  you  don't  get  on;  and  of  course  ex- 
ploring never  pays.  He  has  a  little  place  in  the  coun- 
try and  about  £2000  a  year.  It 's  awfully  little,  really, 
but  it 's  wonderful  what  you  can  put  up  with  when  you 
really  care  for  a  man;  besides,  he's  sure  to  get  on. 
Don't  fail  me  Sunday.  I  shall  really  be  rather  nerv- 
ous. Old  ladies  never  have  been  my  forte.  Julian  is 
such  a  dear !  You  're  sure  to  like  him.  He  wants  to 
meet  you  awfully,  but  he  does  n't  think  women  ought  to 
work.  He  is  full  of  chivalry,  and  has  charming  man- 
ners. It  does  n't  in  the  least  matter  what  you  wear. 
Heaps  of  love.  MARIAN. 

40 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          41 

It  was  this  last  reflection  that  gave  Stella 
courage  to  ring  the  bell.  She  had  never  been 
in  the  Youngs'  house  before.  She  had 
vaguely  known  that  it  was  in  a  very  quiet 
square,  with  a  garden  in  the  middle,  quite  near 
everything  that  mattered,  and  quite  far  away 
from  everything  that  didn't.  It  was  the  kind 
of  house  that  looks  as  if  no  one  was  in  it  unless 
they  were  giving  a  party.  The  interior  was 
high,  narrow,  and  box-like.  A  great  deal  of 
money  had  been  unpretentiously  spent  on  it, 
with  a  certain  amount  of  good-humored,  or- 
dinary taste. 

The  drawing-room  ran  the  whole  length  of 
the  house,  and  was  pink  and  gray,  because  the 
Youngs  knew  that  pink  and  gray  go  well  to- 
gether, just  as  blue  and  gold  do,  only  that  blue 
fades. 

The  chairs  were  very  comfortable,  the  little 
tables  had  the  right  kind  of  ornaments,  the  pic- 
tures were  a  harmless,  unenlightening  addi- 
tion to  the  gray-satin  walls. 

The  books  that  lay  about  were  novels. 
They  were  often  a  little  improper,  but  never 
seriously  so,  and  they  always  ended  in  people 
getting  what  they  wanted  legally. 


42          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

It  was  a  clean,  comfortable,  fresh  room  and 
nothing  was  ever  out  of  place  in  it. 

Marian  was  sitting  under  a  high  vase  of  pink 
canterbury-bells;  by  some  happy  chance  her 
dress  was  the  same  pale  pink  as  the  bells.  She 
looked,  with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  her  throat 
lifted,  and  the  sun  on  her  hair,  like  a  flower  of 
the  same  family.  Her  manner  was  a  charm- 
ing mixture  of  ease  and  diffidence. 

Stella  was  late,  and  Lady  Verny  and  Julian 
had  arrived  before  her. 

Lady  Verny  was  like  her  son.  She  was  very 
tall  and  graceful,  and  carried  herself  as  if  she 
had  never  had  to  stoop.  Her  eyes  had  the 
steady,  frosty  blueness  of  Julian's,  with  lightly 
chiseled  edges ;  her  lips  were  ironic,  curved,  and 
a  little  thin. 

She  had  piles  of  white  hair  drawn  back  over 
her  forehead.  When  Marian  introduced  her 
to  Stella,  she  rose  and  turned  away  from  the 
tea-table. 

"I  hope  you  will  come  and  talk  to  me  a  lit- 
tle," she  said  in  a  clear,  musical  voice.  "We 
can  leave  Julian  and  Marian  to  themselves." 

Lady  Verny  leaned  back  in  the  chair  she 
had  chosen  for  herself  and  regarded  Stella 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          43 

with  steady,  imperturbable  eyes.  It  struck 
Stella  as  a  little  alarming  that  they  should  all 
know  where  they  wanted  to  sit,  and  with  whom 
they  wanted  to  talk,  without  any  indecision. 
She  thought  that  chairs  would  walk  across  the 
room  to  Lady  Verny  if  she  looked  at  them,  and 
kettles  boil  the  moment  Julian  thought  that  it 
was  time  for  tea.  But  though  she  was  even 
more  frightened  at  this  calm,  unconscious  com- 
petency than  she  had  expected  to  be,  she  saw 
it  did  n't  matter  about  her  clothes.  She  knew 
they  were  all  wrong,  as  cheap  clothes  always 
are,  particularly  cheap  clothes  that  you  've 
been  in  a  hurry  over  and  not  clever  enough  to 
match.  Her  boots  and  her  gloves  weren't 
good,  and  her  hat  was  horrid  and  probably  on 
the  back  of  her  head.  Her  blue-serge  coat 
and  skirt  had  indefinite  edges.  But  Stella  was 
aware  that  Lady  Verny,  beautifully  dressed  as 
she  was,  was  taking  no  notice  whatever  of 
Stella's  clothes.  They  might  make  an  extra 
point  against  her  if  she  did  n't  like  her.  Stella 
could  hear  her  saying,  "Funny  that  Marian 
should  make  friends  with  a  sloppy  little  scare- 
crow." But  if  she  did  like  her,  she  would  say 
nothing  about  Stella's  clothes.  As  far  as  the 


44          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Vernys  were  concerned,  the  appearances  of 
things  were  always  subsidiary. 

"Engagements  are  such  interrupted  times," 
Lady  Verny  observed,  with  a  charming  smile. 
"One  likes  to  poke  a  little  opportunity  toward 
the  poor  dears  when  one  can." 

"Yes,"  said  Stella,  eagerly,  with  her  little, 
rapid  flight  of  words.  "You  're  always  run- 
ning away  when  you're  engaged,  and  never 
getting  there,  aren't  you?  And  then,  of 
course,  when  you  're  married,  you  're  there,  and 
can't  run  away.  It 's  such  a  pity  they  can't 
be  more  mixed  up." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Lady  Verny,  still  smiling. 
"But  marriage  is  like  a  delicate  clock;  it  has 
to  be  wound  up  very  carefully,  and  the  less 
you  take  its  works  to  pieces  afterward  the  bet- 
ter. Have  you  known  Marian  a  long  time?" 

"Three  years,"  said  Stella;  "but  when  you 
say  'know,'  I  am  only  an  accident.  I  don't 
in  any  real  sense  belong  to  Marian's  life ;  I  be- 
long only  to  Marian.  You  see,  I  work."  She 
thought  she  ought,  in  common  fairness  to  Lady 
Verny,  not  let  her  think  that  she  was  one  of 
Marian's  real  friends. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          45 

Lady  Verny  overlooked  this  implication. 

"And  what  is  your  work,  may  I  ask?"  she  in- 
quired, with  her  grave,  solid  politeness,  which 
reminded  Stella  of  nothing  so  much  as  a  pro- 
cession in  a  cathedral. 

"I  was  a  secretary  to  Professor  Paulson," 
Stella  explained,  "the  great  naturalist.  He 
was  a  perfect  dear,  too, — it  was  n't  only  beetles 
and  things, — and  when  he  died,  I  went  into  a 
town  hall, — I  Ve  been  there  for  two  years, — 
and  that 's  more  exciting  than  you  can  think. 
It  is  n't  theories  and  experiments,  of  course, 
but  it 's  like  being  a  part  of  the  hub  of  the 
universe.  Rates  and  taxes,  sanitary  inspec- 
tors, old-age  pensions,  and  the  health  of  babies 
run  through  my  hands  like  water  through  a 
sieve.  You  would  n't  believe  how  entertaining 
civic  laws  and  customs  are — and  such  charming 
people !  Of  course  I  miss  the  other  work,  too, 
— it  was  like  having  one's  ear  against  nature, — 
but  this  is  more  like  having  one's  ear  against 
life." 

"I  think  you  must  have  very  catholic  tastes," 
said  Lady  Verny,  gently.  "My  son  knew 
Professor  Paulson;  it  will  interest  him  to  know 


46          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

that  you  worked  for  him.  And  Marian — did 
she  take  any  interest  in  your  scientific  experi- 
ences ?" 

Stella  moved  warily  across  this  question; 
she  had  never  spoken  to  Marian  about  her  work 
at  all.  Marian,  as  she  knew,  thought  it  all  very 
tiresome. 

"You  see,"  she  explained,  "they  were  n't  my 
experiences;  they  were  Professor  Paulson's. 
Marian  could  n't  very  well  be  thrilled  at  third 
hand;  the  thrill  only  got  as  far  as  me.  Be- 
sides, half  of  what  I  do  as  a  secretary  is  con- 
fidential, and  the  other  half  sounds  dull.  Of 
course  it  is  n't  really.  I  've  been  so  lucky  in 
that  way.  I  Ve  never  had  anything  dull  to 
do." 

"I  can  quite  imagine  that,"  said  Lady 
Verny,  kindly.  "Dullness  is  in  the  eye,  not 
in  the  object.  Does  Marian  like  life  better 
than  intellect,  too?" 

"Ah,  Marian's  life,"  said  Stella,  a  little 
doubtfully,  "is  so  different!" 

They  glanced  across  at  the  distant  tea-table. 
Julian  was  leaning  toward  Marian  with  eyes 
that  held  her  with  the  closeness  of  a  frame  to 
a  picture. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          47 

He  was  laughing  at  her  a  little,  with  the  in- 
dulgent, delighted  laughter  of  a  man  very 
deeply  in  love.  She  was  explaining  something 
to  him,  simply  and  gravely,  without  undue  em- 
phasis. Stella  guessed  that  it  was  one  of  the 
things  Marian  wanted,  and  she  did  not  think 
that  Julian  could  get  out  of  giving  it  to  her  by 
laughter. 

"Marian's  life  has  n't  got  divisions  in  it  like 
mine,"  she  explained.  "She  's  just  a  beautiful 
human  creature.  She  is  equable  and  strong 
and  delightful  and  absolutely  honest.  She  's 
as  honest  as  crystal;  but  she  hasn't  had  to 
bother  about  choosing." 

"Ah,"  said  Lady  Verny,  "you  think  that, 
do  you?  But,  my  dear  Miss  Waring,  sooner 
or  later  we  all  have  to  bother  about  choosing. 
Beauty  and  strength  don't  save  us.  Absolute 
honesty  often  lets  us  in,  and  sometimes,  when 
the  scales  weigh  against  us,  we  cease  to  be 
equable." 

"But  they  won't,  you  see,"  Stella  said 
eagerly.  "They  can't  weigh  against  her  now, 
Lady  Verny.  Don't  you  see?  There  's  your 
son — it 's  why  one  's  so  delighted.  An  en- 
gagement to  him  is  like  some  thumping  insur- 


48          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

ance  which  somehow  or  other  prevents  one's 
house  being  burned." 

Lady  Verny  laughed. 

"Let  us  hope  your  theory  is  a  correct  one," 
she  said,  rising  from  her  seat.  "I  am  going 
to  talk  to  her  now,  and  you  can  talk  to  the  in- 
surance company." 

Stella  gasped.  She  wanted  to  run  away,  to 
catch  Lady  Verny's  graceful  scarf  and  tell 
her  she  could  n't  really  talk  to  anybody's  son. 
Agreeable,  massive  beings  who  explored  con- 
tinents and  lived  in  clubs  oughtn't  to  come 
her  way.  But  Julian  crossed  the  room  to  her 
side  with  the  quickness  of  a  military  order. 
His  manners  hid  his  reluctance.  He  was  at 
her  service  in  a  moment.  His  keen  eyes, 
harder  than  his  mother's  and  more  metallic, 
met  hers  once  and  glanced  easily  away.  They 
said  nothing  to  Stella  except  that  he  was  a 
watchful  human  being  who  could  n't  be  taken 
in,  and  was  sometimes  perhaps  unduly  aware 
that  he  could  n't  be  taken  in. 

"I  'm  very  glad  indeed,"  he  said  cordially, 
"to  meet  Marian's  greatest  friend.  You 
must  tell  me  all  about  her.  You  see,  I  'm  a 
new-comer;  I  've  known  her  only  six  weeks, 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          49 

and  I  Ve  been  so  busy  trying  to  impress  her 
with  my  point  of  view  that  I  quite  feel  I  may 
have  overlooked  some  of  hers.  Women  al- 
ways understand  women,  don't  they?" 

He  was  n't  going  to  be  difficult  to  talk  to. 
That  unnecessary  ingredient  in  his  composi- 
tion saved  Stella.  As  long  as  she  had  a  brain 
to  call  to,  and  was  n't  only  to  be  awed  by 
splendor  of  appearance  and  forms  as  difficult 
for  her  to  cross  as  five-barred  gates,  she 
need  n't  be  afraid  of  him.  It  never  was  peo- 
ple that  Stella  was  afraid  of,  but  the  things, 
generally  the  silly  things,  that  separated  her 
from  them. 

"We  do  and  we  don't  understand  each 
other,"  she  said  swiftly.  "I  don't  think 
women  can  tell  what  another  woman  will  do; 
but  granted  she's  done  it,  I  dare  say  most 
could  say  why." 

Julian  laughed. 

"Then  have  the  kindness  to  inform  me,"  he 
said,  "why  Marian  has  consented  to  marry 
me.  Incidentally,  your  reply  will  no  doubt 
throw  a  light  for  me  upon  her  mental  proc- 
esses." 

Stella  saw  he  did  not  want  any  light  thrown 


50          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

anywhere;  he  was  simply  giving  his  mother 
time  to  get  to  know  Marian.  Then  he  was 
going  back  to  her;  that  was  his  light. 

She  gave  a  vague  little  smile  at  the  sub- 
limated concentration  of  lovers.  She  liked 
to  watch  them ;  she  would  never  have  to  be  one. 

It  was  like  seeing  some  beautiful  wild  crea- 
ture of  the  woods.  It  would  n't  be  like  you  at 
all,  and  yet  it  would  be  exceedingly  amusing 
and  touching  to  watch,  and  sometimes  it  would 
make  you  think  of  what  it  would  feel  like  to 
be  wild  and  in  those  woods. 

She  reminded  herself  sharply,  as  her  eyes 
turned  back  to  Julian,  that  it  would  n't  do  to 
let  him  think  she  thought  him  wild.  He  was 
behaving  very  well,  and  the  least  she  could  do 
was  to  let  him  think  so.  She  gave  herself 
up  to  his  question. 

"You  're  very  strong,"  she  said  con- 
sideringly. "Marian  likes  strength.  She 's 
strong  herself,  you  know;  probably  that 's  one 
of  her  reasons." 

"Good,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "Physically 
strong,  d'you  mean,  or  an  iron  will?  Iron 
wills  are  quite  in  my  line,  I  assure  you.  Any 
other  reason?" 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          51 

"Strong  both  ways,"  said  Stella;  "and 
you  're  secure.  I  mean,  what  you  've  taken 
you  '11  keep.  I  think  some  women  like  a  man 
they  can  be  sure  of." 

"Let  us  hope  they  all  do,"  said  Sir  Julian, 
laughing.  "It  would  imply  a  very  bad  busi- 
ness instinct  if  they  didn't." 

"I  do  not  think  I  agree  with  you,"  said 
Stella,  firmly.  "The  best  business  is  often  an 
adventure,  a  risk.  Safe  business  does  not  go 
far ;  it  goes  only  as  far  as  safety." 

"Well,  I  'm  not  sure  that  I  want  women  to 
go  particularly  far,"  said  Sir  Julian.  "I  like 
'em  to  be  safe;  let  'em  leave  the  better  busi- 
ness with  the  risk  in  it  to  men.  I  shall  be  con- 
tent if  Marian  does  that." 

"I  think  Marian  will,"  said  Stella.  "But 
there  are  other  things,  of  course,  besides  you 
and  Marian :  there  's  life.  You  can  only  take 
all  the  risk  there  is  if  you  take  all  the  life.  I 
see  what  you  would  like,  Sir  Julian :  you  want 
a  figurehead  guaranteed  against  collisions. 
Unfortunately  there's  no  guarantee  against 
collisions  even  for  a  figure-head.  Besides,  as 
I  told  you  before,  Marian 's  strong.  Iron 
wills  don't  make  good  figureheads." 


52          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"Ah,  you  're  one  of  these  new  women,"  said 
Sir  Julian,  indulgently.  "I  don't  mind  'em  a 
bit,  you  know,  myself — all  steel  and  ginger, — 
and  quite  on  to  their  jobs.  I  admit  all  that. 
But  Marian  ain't  one  of  them.  Her  strength 
is  the  other  kind — the  kind  you  get  by  sitting 
still,  don't  you  know;  and  if  I  may  say  so  in 
passing,  if  I  run  a  ship,  I  don't  collide.  But 
let 's  have  your  third  reason.  I  see  you  're 
keeping  something  back.  She 's  going  to 
marry  me  because  I  'm  strong  and  because 
I  'm  sure;  I  approve  of  both  of  them,  sound 
business  reasons.  Now,  Miss  Waring,  what 's 
the  third?" 

"Ah,  the  third  isn't  a  reason  at  all,"  said 
Stella ;  "but  it 's  the  only  one  that  I  thoroughly 
agree  with  as  a  motive :  she  likes  you  for  your- 
self." 

Sir  Julian's  eyes  suddenly  softened;  they 
softened  so  much  that  they  looked  quite  differ- 
ent eyes,  almost  as  if  they  belonged  to  a  very 
pleased  little  boy. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  looking  back  at  Marian.  "I 
should  n't  in  the  least  mind  being  guaranteed 
that,  j^ou  know." 

Lady  Verny  rose  and  walked  toward  them. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          53 

"I  have  some  other  calls  to  make,"  she  said 
to  her  son.  "You  '11  stay,  of  course." 

Stella  joined  her  as  soon  as  she  had  given 
the  happiest  of  her  smiles  into  Marian's  ex- 
pectant eyes.  Lady  Verny's  face,  as  they 
stood  together  outside  the  door,  was  perfectly 
expressionless. 

Without  a  word  she  descended  the  stairs 
side  by  side  with  Stella.  When  she  reached 
the  front  door  she  held  out  her  hand  to  Stella 
and  smiled. 

"I  hope  I  shall  meet  you  again  some  day," 
she  said,  with  gracious  sincerity.  "I  enjoyed 
our  little  talk  together  very  much." 

She  said  nothing  whatever  about  Marian. 


CHAPTER  V 

IT  was  a  very  hot  morning  in  July,  a  morn- 
ing when  work  begins  slowly,  continues 
irritably,  and  is  likely  to  incite  human  par- 
oxysms of  forgetfulness  and  temper.  It  took 
the  form  with  Mr.  Leslie  Travers  of  his  being 
more  definite  than  usual.  He  was  an  ex- 
tremely intelligent  man,  and  most  of  his  in- 
telligence consisted  in  knowing  where  other 
people  were  wrong.  The  heat  lent  an  almost 
unbearable  edge  to  these  inspirations;  the  of- 
fice boy,  the  mayor's  secretary,  and  two  typists 
withdrew  from  his  sanctum  as  if  they  had  been 
in  direct  contact  with  a  razor. 

Stella  wished,  as  she  had  often  wished  be- 
fore, that  the  inner  office  in  which  she  worked 
could  not  be  invaded  by  the  manner  in  which 
Mr.  Travers  conducted  his  interviews.  She 
respected  him  as  her  chief,  she  even  considered 
him  with  a  kind  of  loyal  awe  augmented  by  her 
daily  duty.  She  pleased  him,  she  catered  for 

54 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE  55 

him,  she  never  in  any  circumstances  let  him 
down  or  confused  him  by  a  miscalculation  or 
a  mistake. 

It  is  impossible  to  do  this  for  any  man  for 
two  years  and,  if  he  has  treated  you  with  fair- 
ness and  respect,  not  at  the  end  of  that  time, 
to  regard  him  with  a  certain  proprietary  affec- 
tion. This  was  how  Stella  regarded  Mr. 
Travers.  He  was  a  clever  man,  and  he  never 
expected  any  one  under  him  to  work  miracles 
or  to  give  him  trouble.  He  knew  what  you 
were  worth,  and  sometimes  he  let  you  see  it. 

He  was  handsome  in  a  thin,  set,  rather  dry 
way,  and  when  he  put  his  finger-tips  together 
and  smiled  a  little  ironic  smile  he  had,  and 
leaned  forward  with  his  shoulders  hunched  and 
his  eyes  unusually  bright,  as  if  they'd  been 
polished  like  a  boot-button,  he  had  an  air  of 
intellectual  strength  which  usually  brought 
terror  to  an  opponent.  He  always  knew  when 
his  adversary  was  in  the  wrong.  It  some- 
times seemed  to  Stella  as  if  he  never  knew  any- 
thing else. 

He  had  reduced  life  to  a  kind  of  game  in 
which  you  caught  the  other  fellow  out.  She 
got  very  tired  of  hearing  him  say,  "You  see, 


56          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Miss  Waring,  the  weak  point  of  this  case  is — " 
or,  "I  think  we  may  just  point  out  to  him  that 
he  renders  himself  liable  to — " 

He  was  a  master  hand  at  an  interview.  To 
begin  with,  he  always  let  the  interviewer  state 
his  case  completely.  He  never  interrupted; 
he  would  sit  there  smiling  a  little  with  his 
steady,  observant  eyes  fixed  on  the  man  before 
him,  saying  in  a  suave,  mild  voice,  "Yes,  yes;  I 
quite  see.  Exactly.  Your  point  is — "  and 
Stella,  listening,  would  feel  her  heart  sink  at 
the  dangerous  volubility  of  his  opponent.  She 
would  have  liked  to  spring  from  behind  the 
screen  where  she  was  sorting  the  correspond- 
ence and  say,  "For  Heaven's  sake!  keep  that 
back!  You  're  letting  yourself  in!"  As  soon 
as  the  usually  verbose  and  chaotic  applicant 
had  drawn  his  final  breath,  Mr.  Leslie  Travers 
gave  him  back  his  case  with  the  points  elimi- 
nated, and  the  defenseless  places  laid  out  be- 
fore him  as  invertebrate  and  unmanageable  as 
a  jellyfish.  It  was  hardly  necessary  for  Mr. 
Leslie  Travers  to  say,  with  his  dry  little  smile, 
"I  think  you  see,  my  dear  fellow,  don't  you, 
that  it  would  really  be  advisable  in  your  own 
interests  not  to  go  on  any  further  with  the 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          57 

matter?  It  will  be  no  trouble  to  us  at  all  if 
you  decide  to  push  it,  but  if  you  take  my  ad- 
vice, you  will  simply  go  home  and  think  no 
more  about  it."  People  usually  went  home, 
and  if  their  case  had  been  important  to  them, 
they  probably  thought  about  it  to  the  end  of 
their  lives ;  but  that  did  n't  affect  Mr.  Tr avers. 
It  was  his  business  to  safeguard  the  interests 
of  the  town  hall,  and  the  more  cases  you  could 
drop,  the  better.  Of  course  he  never  dropped 
a  case  that  could  be  used  against  him ;  he  held 
on  to  these  until  they  couldn't.  He  had  to 
perfection  the  legal  mind.  He  never  touched 
what  wasn't  a  safe  proposition.  A  peculiar 
idea  seized  Stella  as  she  listened  to  him  dismiss- 
ing a  worried  rate-payer  who  had  asked  for 
lowered  rates,  claiming  the  decreased  value  of 
his  property,  "We  shall  act  immediately,"  Mr. 
Travers  said  benevolently.  "We  receive 
proof  that  your  property  has  decreased  in 
value,  but  it  doesn't  do,  you  know,  to  come 
here  and  tell  me  the  neighborhood  is  n't  what 
it  was.  No  neighborhood  ever  is.  Good 
morning." 

What,  she  asked  herself,  would  Mr.  Leslie 
Travers  be  without  his  impeccable  tie,  his  black 


58          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

coat,  and  definitely  creased  gray  trousers,  the 
pob'sh  on  his  boots,  the  office  background,  and, 
above  all,  the  law?  Was  he  really  very  awe- 
inspiring.  Was  n't  he  just  a  funny  little  man  ? 
It  was  curious  how  she  felt  this  morning,  as  if 
she  would  have  liked  to  see  some  one  large  and 
lawless  face  Mr.  Travers  and  show  him  that 
his  successes  were  tricks,  his  interviews  mouse- 
traps, his  words  delusive  little  pieces  of  very 
stale  cheese.  He  was  too  careful  of  his  dig- 
nity, too  certain  of  his  top-hat.  You  could  n't 
imagine  him  dirty  and  oily  at  the  north  pole, 
putting  grit  into  half -frozen,  starving  men. 
You  could  n't,  that  is  to  say,  imagine  him  at  a 
disadvantage,  making  the  disadvantage  play 
his  game. 

His  games  were  always  founded  on  advan- 
tages. He  was  n't,  in  fact,  at  all  like  Julian 
Verny,  nor  was  there  any  reason  why  he  should 
be.  But  yesterday  Stella  had  seen  Julian 
Verny,  and  to-day  she  saw,  and  saw  as  if  for 
the  first  time,  Mr.  Leslie  Travers. 

"Now,  Miss  Waring,"  Mr.  Travers  said, 
looking  up  from  his  desk,  "the  correspondence, 
please,  if  you  are  ready."  He  always  spoke 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          59 

to  her,  unless  he  was  in  a  hurry,  as  if  he  were 
speaking  to  a  good,  rather  bright  little  girl  who 
knew  her  place,  but  must  n't  be  tempted  un- 
duly to  forget  it.  When  he  was  in  a  hurry  he 
sometimes  said,  "Look  sharp." 

Stella  brought  the  correspondence,  and  they 
went  through  it  together  with  their  usual 
celerity  and  carefulness,  and  all  the  time  she 
was  thinking :  '  'We  've  worked  together  every 
day  for  two  years  except  Sundays,  and  he  's 
afraid  to  look  at  me  unless  we  're  discussing  a 
definite  question,  and  he  won't  risk  a  joke,  and 
he  'd  be  shocked  if  I  sneezed.  He  's  just  a 
very  intelligent,  cultivated,  knowing  clerk,  and 
he  'd  be  awfully  upset  if  I  told  him  he  had  a 
smut  on  his  collar." 

Mr.  Leslie  Travers  put  to  one  side  the  two 
or  three  letters  he  had  reserved  for  himself  to 
answer.  Stella  gathered  hers  together  into'  an 
elastic  band ;  but  as  she  turned  to  leave  him  he 
said: 

"Miss  Waring,  one  moment.  You  came  to 
me  on  the  understanding  that  your  work  here 
was  to  be  purely  temporary.  Circumstances 
have  prolonged  your  stay  with  us  until  it  seems 


60          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

to  me  that  we  may  fairly  consider  you,  unless 
you  have  other  plans,  a  permanent  member  of 
our  staff!" 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Stella,  with  a  sudden  flicker 
in  her  eyes,  "unless  you  think  women  should  n't 
be  permanent." 

Mr.  Leslie  Travers  permitted  himself  a  very 
slight  smile. 

"That  disability  in  your  case,"  he  said,  "we 
are  prepared  to  overlook  in  view  of  your  value 
as  a  worker.  As  my  permanent  secretary  I 
should  wish  to  raise  your  salary  ten  pounds 
yearly.  I  have  put  this  before  our  committee, 
and  they  have  seen  their  way  to  consent  to  it." 

Stella's  eyebrows  went  up.  Ten  pounds 
were  worth  so  much  to  that  muddled,  penu- 
rious household  standing  behind  her  on  the 
verge  of  utmost  poverty!  The  man  whose 
place  she  had  taken  had  been  paid  three  hun- 
dred a  year ;  her  rise  brought  up  her  salary  to 
one  third  of  this  amount. 

"It  is  a  disability,  Mr.  Travers,"  she  said 
gently,  "being  a  woman.  I  see  that  it  is 
going  to  cost  me  two  hundred  a  year." 

Mr.  Travers  looked  at  her  very  hard.  He 
knew  that  she  did  her  work  twice  as  well  as  the 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          61 

man  she  had  replaced.  That  is  why  she  had 
replaced  him.  He  thought  of  her  market 
value  as  a  worker,  and  he  knew  that  he  was 
doing  a  perfectly  correct  thing.  A  hundred  a 
year  was  a  fair  wage  for  a  woman  secretary. 
He  said: 

"You  see,  Miss  Waring,  you  have  not  got  a 
family  to  support." 

Stella  flushed.  She  had  a  family  to  sup- 
port, but  she  did  not  intend  to  admit  it  to 
Mr.  Travers.  She  said: 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  had  not  understood 
that  wages  were  paid  according  to  a  worker's 
needs.  I  had  thought  the  value  of  the  work 
settled  the  rate  of  payment." 

Mr.  Travers  was  astonished.  He  had  never 
dreamed  that  Miss  Waring  would  argue  with 
him.  He  had  looked  forward  to  telling  her  of 
this  unexpected  windfall;  he  had  expected  a 
flushed  and  docile  gratitude.  She  was  a  little 
flushed,  it  is  true,  but  she  was  neither  docile 
nor  grateful,  and  he  did  not  quite  see  his  way 
to  continuing  her  line  of  argument.  She  had, 
however,  put  herself  in  the  wrong,  and  he 
pointed  this  out  to  her. 

"I  am  afraid  I  cannot  see  my  way  to  offer- 


62          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

ing  you  more  than  the  increase  I  have  sug- 
gested," he  said;  "but  as  you  were  apparently 
satisfied  to  accept  a  permanent  post  at  my  or- 
iginal offer,  I  may  hope  that  an  extra  ten 
pounds  will  prove  no  obstacle  to  our  continu- 
ing to  work  together." 

"I  do  not  suppose,"  said  Stella,  quietly, 
"that  it  will  be  any  obstacle  to  you  that  I  do 
not  think  it  fair." 

"Really,  Miss  Waring,  really,"  said  Mr. 
Travers,  "I  do  not  think  you  are  quite  yourself 
this  morning.  The  heat,  the  disquieting  news 
in  the  papers —  Perhaps  you  had  better  go  on 
with  the  correspondence.  These  questions  are 
not  personal  ones,  you  know — they — " 

Stella  interrupted  him. 

"All  questions  that  deal  with  human  beings, 
Mr.  Travers,"  she  said,  "are  personal  ques- 
tions, and  the  heat  does  not  affect  them." 

For  one  awful  moment  Mr.  Travers  thought 
that  Miss  Waring  was  laughing  at  him ;  there 
was  that  strange  glint  in  her  eyes  that  he 
had  noticed  before.  She  had  extraordinarily 
pretty  eyes,  usually  so  gentle.  It  was  most 
upsetting. 

She  disappeared  with  her  correspondence  be- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          63 

fore  he  could  think  of  a  suitable  reply.  Le- 
gally he  had  been  perfectly  justified,  more  than 
justified,  because  he  was  under  no  obligation 
to  offer  her  ten  pounds  more. 

This  is  what  comes  of  generosity  to  women. 
If  he  had  n't  offered  her  that  ten  pounds  she 
would  n't  have  laughed  at  him,  if  she  really  had 
laughed  at  him. 

It  was  a  most  disquieting  thought ;  it  haunted 
him  all  day  long,  even  more  than  the  possi- 
bility of  a  European  war.  He  could  n't  help 
the  European  war  if  it  did  come  off,  but  he 
wished  very  much  that  he  had  been  able  to 
prevent  Miss  Waring's  enigmatic  laughter. 


^CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  anything  happened,  Julian's  first 
instinct  was  to  happen  with  it.  He 
had  never  been  in  the  rear  of  a  situation  in  his 
life.  The  blow  of  the  Austrian  ultimatum 
reached  him  on  a  yacht  in  mid-channel.  There 
was  a  cabinet  minister  on  board,  for  whose  sake 
the  yacht  slewed  round  to  make  her  way 
swiftly  back  to  port.  Julian  went  directly  to 
him. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "we  've  got  to  go  in. 
You  grasp  that,  don't  you?" 

Julian  had  one  idea  in  his  head,  the  cabinet 
minister  had  a  great  many;  every  one  but 
Julian  was  leaving  him  alone  to  sort  these 
ideas  out.  Julian  spent  the  six  hours  in  which 
they  were  flying  to  port  in  eradicating  one  by 
one  every  idea  except  his  own. 

The  two  men  stood  together,  leaning  over 
the  ship's  side.  It  was  a  clear  summer  even- 
ing, with  a  bloom  upon  the  waters.  The 

64 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          65 

lights  of  the  boats  they  passed — green  and  red 
and  gold — were  like  glow-worms  in  a  Southern 
night.  The  sea  was  very  easy  under  them;  it 
had  little  movement  of  its  own,  and  parted 
like  riven  gauze  to  let  the  ship  through. 

"We  can't  let  France  go  under,"  Julian 
pleaded.  "Look  at  her,  son — stripped,  after 
1870.  How  she  's  sprung  up!  But  thin,  you 
know — thin,  like  a  gallant  boy. 

"Immoral  small  families?  By  Gad!  how 
righteous  comfortable  people  are!  How 
could  she  help  it  ?  Look  what  she  's  had  to 
carry — indemnities,  cursed  war  burdens,  and 
now  the  three-years  service !  But  she  's  car- 
ried 'em.  I  know  the  French.  I  've  Irish  in 
me,  and  that  helps  me  to  value  their  lucidity. 
Lucidity  's  sense,  you  know,  it  ain't  anything 
dressy  or  imaginative,  it 's  horse-sense  gone 
clean  as  lightning.  The  French  are  a  civilized 
people.  Go  to  Paris, — not  the  Paris  of  our 
luxury-rotted  rich,  who  have  only  asked  it  to 
be  a  little  private  sink  of  their  own, — but  to 
a  Frenchman's  Paris.  Well,  you  '11  find  him 
there,  brain  and  a  heart  under  it.  And,  good 
Lord,  what  nerve ! 

"I  tell  you  we  Ve  got  to  get  down  to  our 


•66          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

own  nerve.  We  've  fatted  it  on  the  top,  but 
the  French  have  n't.  They  're  like  live  wire, 
with  no  cover  to  it.  They  're  the  most  serious 
people  on  earth,  fire  without  smoke.  It  'u'd 
be  an  unspeakable  shame  to  help  set  that 
damned  Prussian  heel  on  them  again.  When 
it  comes,  it  '11  come  as  solid  as  the  mountain 
that  blotted  out  Messina,  as  solid  and  as  sense- 
less, and  you'll  let  that  happen  because  we 
are  n't  'involved!'  Good  Heavens,  man, 
don't  sop  yourself  or  your  conscience  with 
catchwords!  If  this  war  comes,  and  I  feel  in 
my  bones  it 's  on  us,  any  man  who  is  n't  in- 
volved is  a  cur." 

The  cabinet  minister  interrupted  him.  He 
cleared  his  throat,  and  said  that  he  was  hope- 
ful steps  might  be  taken. 

Julian  flung  himself  upon  the  phrase. 

"Of  course  they  '11  be  taken,"  he  shouted 
across  the  quiet,  shadowy  sea.  "They  're  be- 
ing taken  every  minute.  Are  we  the  only  fel- 
lows who  Ve  got  feet? 

"What  about  strategic  railways?  Ever 
studied  'em?  What  about  this  spring's  hav- 
ing seen  Alsace  and  Lorraine  white  with 
camps?  What  about  Tirpitz  slipping  his 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          6T 

navy  votes  through  the  Reichstag,  Socialists 
and  all  ?  I  beg  your  pardon ;  it 's  not  your 
department,  of  course.  We  Ve  let  a  strip  of 
sea  as  small  as  a  South  American  river  cut  us 
off  from  the  plain  speech  of  other  nations. 
What  speech?  My  good  sir,  the  plain  speech 
of  other  nations  is  their  acts.  But  it 's  no  use 
raking  up  what  we  Ve  slid  over.  We  Ve  the 
national  habit  of  sliding,  it 's  a  gift  like  any 
other,  and  if  you  Ve  a  good  eye  for  ice,  it 
does  n't  let  you  in.  .  But  what  Liberal  Govern- 
ment ever  had  a  good  eye  for  the  ice  in  Eu- 
rope. I  'm  speaking  bitterly,  but  I  'm  a  Lib- 
eral myself,  and  I  Ve  seen  in  odd  places  of  the 
earth  that  it 's  no  good  going  slap  through  an 
adverse  fact,  smiling.  You  disarm  nothing 
but  yourself." 

"We  are  not,"  said  the  cabinet  minister,  who 
had  a  happy  disposition  and  a  strong  desire 
not  to  be  shaken  out  of  it,  "really  tied  up  to 
any  Balkan  outbreak — I  mean  necessarily,  of 
course.  Other  issues  might  come  in.  But 
I  see  no  reason,  my  dear  Sir  Julian,  why  we 
should,  in  this  very  disagreeable  crisis,  not  re- 
mind ourselves — and  I  am,  like  you,  one  of  the 
greatest  admirers  of  the  French — that  an 


68          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

entente  is  not  an  alliance.  Political  sympathy 
can  do  a  great  deal  to  affect  these  questions. 
I  can  imagine  a  very  strong  note — " 

"Is  an  engagement  nothing  till  you  Ve  got 
the  ring  on?"  asked  Julian,  savagely.  "Are 
you  going  to  let  down  France,  who  's  not  very 
often,  but  has  just  lately,  trusted  us?  If  we 
do,  let  me  tell  you  this:  we  shall  deserve  ex- 
actly what  we  shall  get.  And  make  no  mis- 
take about  it;  we  shall  get  it.  The  channel 
ports,  taken  from  a  vindictive,  broken  France, 
used,  as  they  ought  to  be  used,  dead  against 
us.  A  little  luck  and  a  dark  night,  and  I 
would  n't  give  that  for  England." 

Julian  flung  his  lighted  cigarette  into  the 
sea;  a  faint  hiss,  and  the  spark  beneath  them 
was  sucked  into  darkness.  Neither  of  the  two 
men  moved.  Julian  lit  another  cigarette,  and 
the  cabinet  minister  gazed  down  into  the  light- 
less  sea.  After  a  pause  he  said  in  a  different 
voice : 

"Look  here,  Verny,  I  Ve  been  impressed, 
devilish  impressed,  by  what  you  Ve  said ;  but 
have  you  considered  what  kind  of  force  we  Ve 
got?  Picked  men,  I  grant  you,  but,  as  you 
say  yourself,  when  the  Germans  do  come  on, 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          69 

they'll  come  like  half  a  mountain  moving. 
What 's  the  use  of  sending  out  a  handful  of 
grasshoppers  to  meet  half  a  mountain?" 

Julian  laughed. 

"Are  you  a  great  man  on  dog-fights?"  he 
asked.  "I  Ve  seen  a  bulldog,  quite  a  small 
chap  he  was,  bring  down  a  Great  Dane  the 
size  of  a  calf.  The  Dane  had  got  a  collie  by 
the  throat ;  friend  of  my  little  chap's,  I  fancy. 
He  could  n't  get  at  the  Dane's  throat,  for  fear 
of  piling  his  weight  on  the  collie;  so  he  just 
stepped  forward  and  took  half  a  leg  between 
his  teeth,  and  buried  his  head  in  it.  I  heard 
the  bone  crack.  The  Dane  tried  to  face  it 
out, — he  was  a  plucky  fellow  and  the  size  of 
a  house, — but  after  a  bit  he  felt  held  down. 
So  he  wheeled  round  and  seized  the  bull  by  a 
piece  of  back  (the  collie  crawled  off,  he  'd  had 
enough,  poor  brute!),  but  the  bull  didn't  stir. 
He  went  on  cracking  that  bone;  he  gave  the 
Dane  all  the  back  he  wanted.  Devil  a  bit  he 
turned  till  the  whole  leg  went  like  a  split  match, 
that  hurled  the  Dane  over,  and  I  had  to  take 
Chang  (that  was  his  name)  off,  or  he  'd  have 
finished  him  up.  He  'd  just  begun  to  enjoy 
the  fight,  with  half  his  back  chawed  over! 


70          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"We  Ve  got  a  navy  that  '11  do  just  that  to 
Germany  if  we  hold  on  long  enough.  Don't 
you  forget  it.  It 's  pressure  that  tells  against 
size — pressure  on  the  right  spot,  and  per- 
sistent." 

The  cabinet  minister  tried  to  say  to  himself 
that  countries  weren't  like  dogs;  but  he  was 
a  truthful  man,  and  he  thought  that  on  the 
whole  they  were. 

England  rose  up  suddenly  before  them  out 
of  the  darkness.  They  were  coming  into  Plym- 
outh Sound.  The  port  lights  held  them 
steadily  for  a  minute,  and  the  steam  yacht 
bustled  soberly  toward  the  docks. 

"If  your  little  lot  sit  down  under  this,"  said 
Julian,  straightening  his  shoulders  and  hold- 
ing the  other  man  with  his  insistent  eyes,  "by 
God!  I  '11  cut  my  throat  and  say,  'Here  died  a 
Briton  whose  country  had  lost  its  soul.' " 

"Bit  of  Irish  in  him  of  course,"  murmured 
the  cabinet  minister  as  Julian  swung  away 
from  him.  "Still,  I  suppose  what  I  shall  say 
is  that  on  the  whole,  taking  everything  into 
consideration,  I  think  we  should  be  wiser  to 
support  France." 


CHAPTER  VII 

JULIAN  had  spent  thirty-two  years — 
his  mother  included  his  first — in  seeing 
what  he  wanted  to  do  and  doing  it.  He  had 
never  consulted  anybody  else,  because  he  had 
always  seen  his  way  clearly,  but  he  had  made 
from  time  to  time  reports  to  his  mother.  He 
had  been  hostile  to  his  father,  who  had  op- 
posed him  weakly  and  sometimes  unfairly  till 
he  died.  Julian  never  felt  disheartened  or 
found  any  opposition  in  himself  to  what  he 
wanted  to  do.  Opposition  in  others  he  liked 
and  overcame.  Nothing  in  him  warned  him 
that  love  demands  participation  and  resents 
exclusion. 

On  landing,  he  hurried  to  London,  and  went 
at  once  to  see  an  old  friend  of  his  in  the  War 
Office. 

"Look  here,  Burton,"  he  said,  "you  remem- 
ber 1911,  don't  you?" 

Burton  drew  on  the  blotting-paper  with  a 
71 


72          THE  SECOXD  FIDDLE 

pencil ;  he  was  almost  overwhelmingly  cautious. 
If  he  had  not  been,  many  more  serious  things 
than  caution  would  have  been  overwhelmed. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "if  I  remember  right,  you 
went  abroad." 

Julian  chuckled. 

"I  was  a  German  navvy  for  six  months,"  he 
said.  "I  ate  like  a  German,  I  drank  thirty 
bottles  of  beer  at  one  sitting  for  a  bet,  and  I 
lost  my  head  and  my  temper  in  German.  It 
seems  as  if  the  best  thing  I  can  do  just  now 
is  to  repeat  the  experiment." 

"You  did  it  at  your  own  risk,"  Burton  re- 
minded him.  "It  was  certainly  serviceable, 
but  we  limited  our  communications  with  you 
as  much  as  possible.  If  it  should  enter  into 
your  mind  to  do  such  a  thing  again,  we  should 
of  course  have  no  communication  with  you 
whatever.  Also,  you  would  need  German  pa- 
pers— birth  certificates,  registrations.  I  really 
do  not  know  at  a  time  like  this  what  you  might 
not  find  necessary.  The  work,  if  you  came 
back,  would  be  invaluable." 

Julian  nodded. 

"Don't  you  bother  yourself  about  papers," 
he  said.  "I  Ve  been  in  a  German  consular  of' 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          73 

fice,  and  I  've  got  a  German  birth-certificate. 
It 's  one  of  the  things  I  do  particularly  well. 
As  long  as  they  're  not  suspicious  they  won't 
ram  the  papers  home,  and  I  don't  propose  to 
let  them  get  suspicious.  I  shall  be  Caesar's 
wife.  Three  years  of  Heidelberg  have  oiled 
my  throat  to  it.  My  mother  tells  me  I  often 
speak  English  in  a  hearty  German  voice.  My 
idea  is  to  go  out  as  soon  as  possible,  through 
Belgium.  They  '11  strike  there,  I  feel  pretty 
sure,  and  I  '11  come  back  the  same  way — Octo- 
ber to  November,  if  I  can.  You  can  put  about 
that  I  'm  off  to  the  Arctic  Ocean.  If  I  'm  not 
back  by  Christmas,  don't  expect  me.  I  shall 
have  no  communication  with  any  one  until  my 
return." 

Burton  smiled. 

"My  dear  Julian,"  he  said,  "one  moment. 
I  have  not  yet  congratulated  you  upon  your 
engagement.  I  do  so  with  all  my  heart.  But 
do  you  intend  to  tell  Miss  Young?  She  may 
not  like  the  Arctic  Ocean  or  she  may  expect 
you  to  fight.  She  will  also,  no  doubt,  look  for 
some  communication  from  you;  and,  as  you 
very  rightly  assert,  there  can  be  no  communica- 
tion whatever  with  anybody  until  you  return." 


74          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Julian  hunched  up  his  shoulders  and  whis- 
tled. 

"She  's  the  pick  of  women,"  he  said  softly. 
"Leave  her  to  me." 

"It 's  all  going  to  be  left  to  you,"  said  Bur- 
ton, gravely.  "If  you  live,  you  '11  get  no  ap- 
parent acknowledgment;  if  you  die,  no  one 
will  ever  know  how.  I  do  not  say  this  to  dis- 
suade you, — there  are  too  many  things  we  want 
to  know, — but  when  I  saw  the  announcement 
of  your  engagement  in  the  paper,  I  said, 
'Well,  we  've  lost  him.'  " 

Julian  rose,  and  walked  to  the  window. 
Until  that  moment  he  had  not  given  Marian 
a  thought.  He  was  full  of  a  lover's  images 
of  her,  but  he  had  not  connected  them  with 
what  he  was  going  to  do.  He  remembered 
what  Marian's  inconspicuous-looking  little 
friend  had  said  to  her,  "honest  as  crystal,  equa- 
ble, strong." 

Then  he  turned  back  to  his  friend. 

"You  haven't  lost  me,"  he  said  steadily. 
"After  all,  if  we  're  up  against  anything  at  all, 
Burton,  we  're  up  against  a  pretty  big  thing. 
I  must  do  exactly  what  is  most  useful.  Of 


.THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          75 

course  I  'd  rather  fight.  One  likes  one's  name 
to  go  down  and  all  that,  and  I  'd  like  to  please 
Marian;  but  the  point,  both  for  her  and  for 
me,  will  be  the  job." 

"Ah,"  said  Burton.  "Then  if  you  '11  just 
come  with  me,  I  '11  take  you  to  a  fellow  who 
will  let  you  know  what  we  want  particularly 
just  now  to  find  out.  You  're  quite  right  as 
far  as  we  are  concerned ;  but  it 's  not  fair  to 
rush  a  man  into  our  kind  of  fight.  It 's  not 
like  any  other  kind.  It 's  risks  without 
prizes." 

"What  you  get  out  of  a  risk,"  said  Julian, 
with  a  certain  gravity,  "is  a  prize." 

Burton  looked  at  him  curiously;  he  rested 
his  hand  for  a  moment  on  his  friend's  shoul- 
der. 

"That's  a  jolly  good  phrase,  Julian,"  he 
said  quietly,  "and  I  think  it 's  true ;  but  it 's 
not  necessarily  a  personal  prize.  You  pay  the 
piper,  and  he  plays  the  tune ;  but  you  might  n't 
be  there  to  listen  to  the  tune." 

"Don't  be  a  croaking,  weather-beaten,  moth- 
eaten  old  Scotch  raven!"  laughed  Julian. 
"Take  my  word  for  it;  you  get  what  you  want 


76          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

out  of  life  if  you  put  all  you  Ve  got  into  it. 
That 's  just  at  this  moment  what  I  propose  to 
put." 

"And  that,"  said  Burton,  without  returning 
his  smile,  "is  what  we  propose  to  take,  Julian." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  MBERLEY  hung  upon  a  cliff  of  land 
-I\.  above  the  water  meadows.  Rising  high 
behind  it,  fold  on  fold,  were  the  Sussex  Downs, 
without  lines,  without  rigidity,  as  soft  as  drift- 
ing snow. 

The  village  had  been  the  seat  of  a  tremen- 
dous castle, — little  of  these  famous  ruins  were 
left, — but  the  old,  yellow  stone  walls  still 
girdled  Amberley  in  the  shape  of  a  broken 
crown , 

There  was  only  one  street,  a  sleepy,  wind- 
ing, white  down  road,  which  ran  between  mossy 
barns  and  deep-thatched  cottages  under  the 
Amberley  Wall.  The  castle  was  older  than 
Amberley  House,  yet  Amberley  House  was  a 
respectable  three  hundred  years,  and  had  been 
all  that  time  the  home  of  countless  Vernys,  It 
had  not  retreated  into  relentless  privacy,  as 
most  old  English  homes  have  done;  it  stood, 
with  its  wide  porch,  stoutly  upon  the  moss- 
grown  cobbles. 

77 


78          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

But  it  was  better  than  its  promises.  If  it 
had  no  park,  there  lay  behind  its  frontage  not 
a  park,  but  a  garden — a  garden  that  fitted  in 
with  nature,  only  to  excel  it. 

Lady  Verny  loved  two  things,  her  garden 
and  her  son ;  but  she  had  been  able  to  do  most 
with  her  garden.  There  were  terraces  that 
swung  from  point  to  point  above  the  long,  blue 
valley;  there  was  a  lawn  hemmed  in  by  black 
yew  hedges,  over  which  the  downs  piled  them- 
selves, bare  and  high,  with  only  the  clouds  be- 
yond them.  There  was  a  sunken  rose-garden, 
with  rough-tiled  pathways  leading  to  a  lake 
with  swans.  Three  hundred  years  had  helped 
Lady  Verny  with  the  lawn,  but  the  herbaceous 
borders  had  been  her  own  affair.  Julian, 
crossing  the  lawn  toward  her,  was  the  same 
strange  mixture  of  her  hand  and  time;  and 
she  had  always  known  that  when  she  had  done 
all  she  could  for  Julian  and  the  garden,  she 
would  have  to  give  both  up.  With  all  their 
difficulties,  their  beauties,  and  their  sullen 
patches,  they  would  pass  into  the  hands  of 
some  young  and  untried  person  unchosen  by 
herself. 

The  person  had  been  chosen  now.     Marian 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          79 

was  already  at  Amberley  for  a  week-end,  and 
knowing  that  Julian  was  expected,  she  had 
left  Lady  Verny  sitting  by  the  tea-table  un- 
der the  yew  hedge  and  gone  up  toward  the 
downs. 

Julian  would  like  this;  he  would  not  wish 
his  bride  to  meet  him  half-way.  He  would  de- 
light in  Marian's  aloofness ;  her  deliberate  and 
delicate  coldness  would  seem  to  him  like  the 
bloom  upon  a  grape.  But  the  coldness  of  a 
future  daughter-in-law  is  not  the  quality  which 
most  endears  her  to  a  mother. 

"Julian,"  Lady  Verny  said  to  herself  as  he 
approached  her,  "will  make  a  very  trying 
lover.  If  he  is  absorbed  in  Marian,  he  will  in- 
terfere with  her;  and  if  he  is  absorbed  in  any- 
thing else,  he  will  ignore  her.  He  needs  a 
great  deal  of  judicious  teasing.  Marian  takes 
herself  too  seriously  to  see  the  fun  of  Julian ; 
she  only  sees  the  fun  of  sex.  She  was  quite 
right  to  go  up  to  the  downs.  It  '11  amuse  him 
to  pursue  her  now,  but  it'll  bore  him  later; 
and  in  the  end  he  '11  find  out  that  she  does  n't 
keep  him  off  because  she  's  got  so  much  to  give, 
but  because  she  's  so  afraid  of  giving  any- 
thing." 


80          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"Where 's  Marian?"  asked  Julian  before  He 
kissed  her. 

"She  went  up  toward  the  downs,"  said  Lady 
Verny.  "She  left  no  directions  behind  her. 
She  's  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  my  dear." 

Julian  laughed. 

"She  knew  I'd  follow  her,"  he  said;  "but 
I  '11  have  my  tea  first,  please." 

"She  has  always  been  followed,  I  imagine," 
said  Lady  Verny,  giving  him  his  tea,  "and  she 
has  always  known  it." 

Julian  looked  pleased;  this  was  the  kind  of 
wife  he  wanted,  a  woman  used  to  admiration, 
and  who  never  made  the  fatal  mistake  of  seek- 
ing it.  He  had  not  much  knowledge  of 
women,  but  he  had  very  strong  opinions  about 
them,  unshaken  by  any  personal  reckoning. 
One  opinion  was  that  nothing  too  much  can  be 
done  for  a  good  woman.  She  must  be  pro- 
tected, cared  for,  and  served  under  every  or- 
deal in  life.  She  must  be  like  a  precious  jewel ; 
bars,  safes,  banks,  must  be  constructed  to  in- 
sure her  inaccessibility  from  all  the  dangers  of 
the  open  world. 

She  must  be  seen — the  East  receded  from 
him  at  this  point — and  admired;  but  she  must 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          81 

be  immaculate.  That  is  to  say,  she  must  at 
no  time  in  her  career  personally  handle  an  ex- 
perience. She  must  be  a  wife  and  mother  (un- 
married women,  though  often  presumably  vir- 
tuous, were  only  the  shabby  bankrupts  of  their 
sex) ,  but,  once  married  and  a  mother,  she  must 
be  kept  as  far  as  possible  from  all  the  implica- 
tions of  these  tremendous  facts. 

Bad  women  were  unsexed.  That  is  to  say, 
no  law  applied  to  them;  they  were  as  outcast 
as  a  man  who  cheats  at  cards.  The  simile  was 
not  exact,  as  the  wromen  were  occasionally 
themselves  the  cheated ;  but  it  was  near  enough 
for  Julian.  There  were  of  course  considerably 
more  female  outcasts  than  card-sharpers;  but 
this  was  fortunate,  for  inadvertently  they  pro- 
tected good  women,  in  a  manner  in  which  card- 
sharpers  have  not  been  known  to  protect  good 
men.  But  Julian  thought  men  needed  no  pro- 
tection, only  women  who  were  safe,  needed  it. 

Julian  was  kinder  to  women  than  his  opin- 
ions promised,  because,  being  strong,  he  was 
on  the  whole  gentle  toward  those  who  were 
weak ;  but  his  kindness  was  a  personal  idiosyn- 
crasy, not  a  principle. 

Lady  Verny  looked  at  him  a  little  helplessly. 


82          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

There  was  something  she  wanted  very  much 
to  say  to  him,  but  she  suffered  from  the  disa- 
bility of  being  his  mother.  There  is  an  un- 
written law  that  mothers  should  not  touch  upon 
vital  matters  with  their  sons.  Lady  Verny  be- 
lieved that  Julian  was  a  victim  of  passion. 
She  did  not  think  he  had  understood  Marian's 
nature,  and  she  knew  that  when  passion  burns 
itself  out,  one  of  two  things  is  left,  comrade- 
ship or  resentment.  She  had  lived  with  resent- 
ment for  twenty  years,  and  she  knew  that  it 
was  not  an  easy  thing  to  live  with,  and  that  it 
would  have  been  worth  while  had  she  known 
more  about  it  earlier,  to  have  found  out  if  there 
was  comradeship  under  the  passion  before  the 
flames  of  it  had  burned  her  boats. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said  consideringly,  gazing 
into  the  bottom  of  her  tea-cup,  "if  your  lovely 
Marian  has  a  sense  of  humor?" 

"Humor?"  said  Julian,  taking  two  savory 
sandwiches  and  wrapping  them  in  bread  and 
butter.  "What  does  she  want  with  humor  at 
her  age?  It 's  one  of  the  things  people  fall 
back  on  when  they  Ve  come  croppers.  Be- 
sides, I  don't  believe  in  comradeship  between 
the  sexes.  Infernally  dull  policy ;  sort  of  thing 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          83 

that  appeals  to  a  book-worm.  What  I  like  is 
a  little  friendly  scrapping.  Honor's  easy! 
I  never  have  cared  much  for  brains  in  a 
woman." 

He  smiled  at  the  woman  he  knew  best  in 
the  world,  who  had  brains,  and  had  given  him 
the  fruit  of  them  all  her  life,  with  kindly  tol- 
erance. 

Probably  she  was  jealous;  but  she  would  n't 
be  tiresome  if  she  was,  and  he  would  make 
things  as  easy  for  her  as  possible. 

Lady  Verny  saw  that  Julian  thought  that 
she  was  jealous.  She  looked  away  from  him 
to  the  terrace  where  he  had  fallen  as  a  baby 
and  struck  his  head  against  the  stone  cornice 
of  the  sun-dial. 

She  could  never  look  at  the  sun-dial  without 
seeing  the  whole  scene  happen  again — and  the 
dreadful  pause  that  followed  it  when  the  small, 
limp  figure  lay  without  moving.  Julian  was 
the  only  child  she  had  ever  had.  She  shivered 
in  the  hot  summer  air  and  gave  up  the  subject 
of  human  love.  There  is  generally  too  much 
to  be  said  about  it  to  make  it  a  good  subject  of 
conversation  except  for  lovers,  who  only  want 
each  other. 


84          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

She  pointed  to  the  newspaper  that  lay  be- 
tween them;  that  also  was  serious. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  quietly,  "this  appears 
to  be  a  very  bad  business?'* 

"Yes,"  Julian  acknowledged.  "This  time 
there  '11  be  no  ducking ;  there  's  nothing  to  duck 
under." 

"And  I  dare  say,"  said  his  mother,  without 
moving  the  strong,  quiet  hands  that  lay  on  her 
lap,  "you  have  been  thinking  what  you  are 
going  to  do  in  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  Ve  decided,"  said  Julian.  "I 
shall  be  off  in  ten  days.  You  '11  guess  where, 
but  no  one  else  must  know." 

"It  was  a  big  risk  before,  Julian,"  she  said 
tentatively. 

"This  time  it'll  be  a  bigger  one,"  he  an- 
swered, meeting  her  eyes  with  a  flash  of  his 
pleased  blue  ones.  "That 's  all.  It  '11  need  a 
jolly  lot  of  thinking  out." 

"And  you've — and  Marian  has  agreed  to 
it?"  Lady  Verny  asked  anxiously. 

"I  have  n't  told  her  yet,"  said  Julian,  easily. 
"It  didn't  occur  to  me  to  mention  it  to 
her  first  any  more  than  to  you.  I  knew  you  'd 
both  understand.  Obviously  it  was  the  one 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          85 

thing  I  could  do.     She  '11  see  that,  of  course." 

"I  'm  different,"  said  Lady  Verny,  with  a 
twist  of  her  ironic  mouth.  "I  'm  your  mother. 
A  mother  takes  what  is  given;  a  wife  expects 
all  there  is  to  give." 

Julian  looked  a  little  uncomfortable.  Bur- 
ton, who  was  a  man,  and  might  therefore  be 
assumed  to  know  better  than  a  woman  what 
a  woman  felt,  had  come  to  the  same  conclu- 
sion. 

Julian  was  prepared  to  give  everything  he 
had  to  Marian — Amberley  and  all  his  money 
and  himself.  There  was  something  in  the  mar- 
riage service  that  put  it  very  well,  but  did  n't, 
as  far  as  he  remembered,  say  anything  to  in- 
clude plans. 

"I  hope  she  likes  Amberley?"  he  ventured. 

Lady  Verny  filled  his  cup  a  second  time,  and 
answered  tranquilly: 

"Marian  thinks  it  a  charming  little  place  to 
run  down  to  for  week-ends."  Then  she  added 
very  gently:  "This  is  going  to  be  very  hard 
for  Marian,  Julian.  You  '11  remember  that, 
won't  you,  when  you  tell  her?" 

"Damnably  hard,"  said  Julian  under  his 
breath.  "Of  course  I  '11  remember.  I  wish  to 


86          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Heaven  she  'd  marry  me  first.     By  Jove,  I  '11 


Lady  Verny's  lips  closed  tightly.  She 
was  n't  going  to  tell  Julian  anything,  because 
she  did  not  believe  in  telling  things  to  people 
who  will  in  the  course  of  time  find  them  out  for 
themselves.  She  knew  that  Marian  would  not 
marry  him  at  a  moment's  notice.  She  knew 
that  he  was  asking  Marian  already  to  stand  a 
very  serious  burden,  and  she  did  not  think 
Marian's  was  the  type  of  love  that  cares  for 
very  serious  and  unexpected  burdens.  She 
gazed  at  the  bushes  of  blue  anchusa;  the  gar- 
dener had  planted  pink  monthly  roses  a  little 
too  thickly  among  them.  She  could  alter  that  ; 
she  did  not  think  there  was  anything  else  she 
could  alter. 

Julian  strode  toward  the  downs  full  of  se- 
riousness, eagerness,  and  pride,  and  in  her 
heart  Lady  Verny  prayed  not  that  God's  will 
might  be  done,  which  seemed  to  her  mind  super- 
fluous, but  that  it  might  as  far  as  possible  be 
made  to  square  with  Julian's.  She  was  a  wise 
and  even  a  just  woman,  but  she  thought  that 
Providence  might  be  persuaded  to  stretch  a 
point  or  two  for  Julian. 


CHAPTER  IX 

JULIAN  walked  easily  and  swiftly  up  the 
slopes  of  the  downs,  whistling  as  he  went. 
He  knew  the  point  from  which  he  would  be 
sure  to  see  his  flying  nymph.  The  air  was  full 
of  the  songs  of  larks ;  beneath  his  feet  the  short 
grasses  and  wild  thyme  sent  up  a  clean  and 
pungent  fragrance. 

The  little,  comfortable  beauties  of  the  sum- 
mer's day  filled  his  heart  with  gladness.  There 
was  no  sound  in  all  the  sleepy  country-side; 
the  peaceful  shining  clouds  floated  over  the 
low  green  hills  as  vague  as  waking  dreams. 

The  cropping  of  the  sheep  upon  the  downs, 
the  searching,  spiral  laughter  of  the  larks,  were 
part  of  the  air  itself;  and  the  shadows  ran  an 
interminable  race  across  the  long  green  mead- 
ows. 

Julian  had  had  experiences  of  love  before, 
but  he  had  never  been  in  love  as  he  was  now. 
He  compared  these  earlier  efforts  in  his  mind 
with  the  light  clouds  that  melted  into  the  sun- 

87 


88          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

shine.  Marian  was  the  sunshine;  she  thrilled 
and  warmed  his  whole  being.  She  was  like 
an  adventure  to  him.  He  felt  very  humble  in 
his  heart  to  think  the  sun  had  cared  to  shine 
upon  him,  and  very  strong  to  meet  its  shining. 

He  noticed  little  things  he  had  never  no- 
ticed before:  the  feathery,  fine  stalks  of  the 
harebells,  and  the  blue  butterflies  that  moved 
among  them  like  traveling  flowers.  Usually, 
when  he  walked,  he  noticed  only  the  quickest 
way  to  reach  his  goal.  He  noticed  that  now, 
but  he  tried  not  to  crush  the  small  down  flowers 
on  his  way. 

He  caught  sight  of  Marian  from  a  ridge  of 
down,  sitting  motionless  and  erect  upon  the 
rim  of  an  old  chalk-pit.  A  long,  blue  veil 
hung  over  her  shoulders  like  the  wings  of  a 
blue  butterfly  fluttering  before  him.  She  saw 
his  shadow  before  he  reached  her,  and  threw 
her  head  back  with  a  little  gesture  that  was 
half  a  welcome  and  half  a  defiance. 

He  came  swiftly  across  the  grass  toward  her, 
but  it  was  she  who  was  breathless  when  he 
took  her  in  his  arms. 

"Trying  to  run  away  from  me,  are  you?" 
he  asked,  smiling  down  at  her.  "The  world  's 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          89 

too  small  here,  and  it 's  mine,  you  know.  You 
should  n't  have  come  here  if  you  had  wanted 
to  escape  me." 

"Let  me  go,  Julian,"  she  murmured.  "I  'm 
sure  there  's  a  shepherd  close  by.  Sit  down 
and  be  sensible!" 

"Shepherds  be  hanged!"  said  Julian,  kissing 
her.  "Do  you  suppose  anybody  's  ever  been 
more  sensible  than  I  feel  now?  Kissing  you 
is  the  most  sensible  thing  a  man  ever  did;  but 
don't  let  anybody  else  guess  it." 

He  sat  down  at  her  feet  and  looked  up  into 
the  beautiful,  flushed  face  above  him.  It  was 
as  lovely  as  a  lifted  flower;  but  unlike  the 
flower,  it  was  not  very  soft.  It  was  even  like 
a  slightly  sophisticated  hothouse  flower;  but 
she  had  the  look  of  race  he  loved.  Her  level, 
penciled  brows,  small,  straight  nose,  curved 
lips,  and  chin  like  a  firm,  round  apple,  were 
the  heritage  of  generations  of  handsome  lives. 
Her  coloring  was  only  a  stain  of  pink  upon  a 
delicate,  clear  whiteness ;  but  the  eyes  beneath 
the  low,  smooth  forehead,  were  disappointing. 
They  were  well-cut  hazel  eyes,  without  light 
in  them.  They  lay  in  her  head  a  little  flat,  like 
the  pieces  of  a  broken  mirror. 


90          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Just  now  they  were  at  their  tenderest.  Her 
whole  face,  bending  over  him,  cool  and  sweet 
as  the  southwest  wind  and  as  provocative  as 
the  flying  clouds,  moved  his  heart  almost  un- 
bearably. She  was  like  an  English  summer 
day,  and  he  knew  now  what  it  would  mean  to 
leave  her. 

"I  couldn't  bear  to  stay  down  there,"  she 
explained.  "I  was  frightened,  not  of  you,  you 
absurd  person,  but  of  being  glad.  I  'm  afraid 
I  don't  like  big  feelings  very  much.  I  can't 
explain  exactly,  but  the  papers  frightened  me. 
I  wanted  to  see  you  too  much.  Yes,  sir,  you 
may  keep  that  for  a  prize  to  your  vanity;  and 
I  knew  that  if  there  should  be  war — "  She 
stopped,  her  lovely  lips  trembled  a  little.  "I 
shall  have  to  let  you  go  so  soon!"  she  whis- 
pered. 

He  bowed  his  head  over  her  hand  and  kissed 
it  passionately. 

"If  I  could  spare  you  this  pain,"  he  said, 
"I  'd  take  a  thousand  lives — and  lose  them  to 
doit!" 

"No!  no!"  she  murmured.  "Keep  one, 
Julian!" 

He  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  her  steadily. 


'I'm  afraid  I  don't  like  big  feelings  much" 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          93 

"I  swear  I  '11  keep  it,"  he  said.  "I  '11  keep 
it,  and  bring  it  back  to  you,  cost  what  it 
may." 

It  did  not  look  as  if  it  were  going  to  cost 
very  much,  with  the  light  clouds  passing  over- 
head, and  the  soft  down  grasses  under  them; 
and  their  great  citadels  of  youth  and  love  about 
them,  unmenaced  and  erect. 

"I  've  a  piece  of  work  I  've  got  to  do,"  Julian 
went  on,  "and  I  can't  tell  you  anything  about 
it.  It  '11  take  me  three  months,  I  fancy.  I 
can  fight  afterward." 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  in  which  aston- 
ishment turned  almost  hostile. 

"Not  fighting?"  she  said.  "But  what  do 
you  mean,  Julian?  If  we  go  in,  every  one 
must  fight.  I  know  you  're  not  a  soldier,  but 
there  '11  be  volunteers.  With  all  your  adven- 
tures and  experiences,  they  are  sure  to  give 
you  a  good  post.  Everybody  knows  you. 
What  do  you  mean — a  job  you  can't  tell  me 
about — unless,  of  course  it 's  something  naval?" 

Julian  turned  his  face  to  the  wild  thyme. 
He  shook  his  head. 

"No,  not  that,"  he  said.  "Can't  you  trust 
me,  Marian?" 


94          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"Trust  you!"  she  said  impatiently.  "Of 
course  I  can  trust  you,  but  why  be  so  myste- 
rious? Mightn't  I  equally  say,  'Why  don't 
you  trust  me?'  " 

"It 's  part  of  my  job,"  said  Julian  quietly, 
"not  to  trust  the  ground  we  're  on  or  the  larks 
in  the  sky  or  the  light  of  my  heart, — that 's 
you,  Marian, — and  it  does  n't  happen  to  be  the 
easiest  part  of  my  job." 

He  waited  for  her  to  make  it  easier  for  him, 
but  he  waited  in  vain.  Marian  expected  easy 
things,  but  she  did  not  expect  to  have  to  make 
things  easy.  These  two  expectations  seldom 
go  together. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  are  going 
to  be  some  kind  of  spy?"  she  asked  in  a  tone 
of  frank  disgust.  "Oh,  Julian!  I  couldn't 
bear  it !  It 's  so — so — un-English !" 

Julian  chuckled.  He  ought  not  to  have 
chuckled.  If  a  man  does  not  like  a  woman 
with  brains,  he  must  learn  not  to  laugh  at  their 
absence.  Marian  stiffened  under  his  laugh- 
ter. 

"England's  got  to  be  awfully  un-English 
in  some  ways  if  it  wants  to  win  this  war,"  he 
explained.  "But  you  must  n't  even  to  your- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          95 

self  put  a  name  to  what  I  'm  going  to  be.  I  'm 
just  on  a  job  that  '11  take  me  three  months,  and 
I  'm  afraid,  my  darling,  I  can't  send  you  a 
word.  That  cuts  me  all  to  bits,  but  you  're  so 
brave,  so  brave,  you  '11  let  me  go." 

He  buried  his  head  in  the  grass ;  he  was  not 
brave  enough  to  bear  to  see  the  strain  he  was 
putting  on  her  courage.  Nor  was  Marian. 

"No,  Julian,"  she  said,  "you  mustn't  ask 
such  a  thing  of  me.  Not  to  know  where  you 
are,  and  not  to  be  able  to  tell  any  one  what 
you  are  doing!  To  let  you  go  out  into  the 
dark  at  a  time  like  this !  It 's  too  much  to  ask 
of  me.  Promise  me  you  '11  give  up  all  idea 
of  it,  and  try  to  get  a  commission  like  other 
people.  Surely  that 's  hard  enough  for  me. 
But  I  '11  bear  that ;  I  will  never  make  it  diffi- 
cult for  you  by  a  word  or  a  look ;  I  would  n't 
hold  you  back  a  day !  You  Ve  not  settled  any- 
thing of  course?" 

He  told  her  that  he  had  settled  everything, 
and  that  in  two  days  he  must  go. 

A  terrible  silence  fell  between  them,  a  cold 
silence  that  was  like  the  pressure  of  a  stone. 
Neither  of  them  moved  or  looked  at  the  other. 
Julian  took  her  hand.  She  did  not  withdraw 


96          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

it  from  him,  but  she  left  it  in  his  as  unrespon- 
sive as  a  fallen  leaf. 

"Marian,"  he  whispered,  "Marian.  Love 
me  a  little." 

She  would  not  turn  her  face  to  him. 

"Why  do  you  talk  to  me  of  love,"  she  asked 
bitterly,  "when  without  consulting  me  you  do 
something  which  involves  your  whole  life  and 
mine!" 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  close 
to  him,  kissing  her  cold  lips  till  they  answered 
him. 

"My  darling!  my  darling!"  he  whispered, 
"I  love  you  like  this  and  like  this!  It 's  sheer 
murder  to  leave  you!  I  feel  as  if  it  would 
break  me.  But  I  've  got  to  go.  Don't  you 
see,  don't  you  understand?  It 's  work  I  do 
well,  it 's  important,  just  now  it 's  more  impor- 
tant than  fighting ;  it 's  not  one  man's  life  that 
hangs  on  it,  but  it 's  thousands.  Believe  me, 
there 's  no  dishonor  in  it.  Love  me  or  you  '11 
break  me,  Marian!  Don't  be  against  me.  I 
could  n't  stand  it.  Say  you  '11  let  me  go,  for 
if  I  go  and  you  don't  say  it,  I  '11  go  as  a  broken 
man." 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          97 

She  pushed  him  gently  away  from  her,  con- 
sidering him.  She  knew  her  terrible  power. 
She  was  very  angry  with  him,  and  she  had  hurt 
him  as  much  as  she  meant  to  hurt  him.  She 
had  no  intention  whatever  of  breaking  him. 
If  he  was  going  to  do  this  kind  of  work,  he 
must  do  it  well.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was 
rather  important;  but  important  or  not,  he 
should  have  asked  her  first.  She  laid  her  small 
hand  over  his  big  one  with  a  delicate  pressure. 

"Never  settle  such  a  thing  again  without 
telling  me,"  she  said  gravely. 

Julian  promised  quickly  that  he  never  would. 
He  saw  for  the  first  time  that  love  was  not 
liberty,  and  for  the  moment  he  preferred  love. 
He  had  not  felt  deeply  enough  to  know  that 
there  is  a  way  in  which  you  may  widen  liberty 
and  yet  keep  love. 

"I  shall  let  you  go,"  Marian  said  gently, 
"and  I  shall  try  to  bear  it  as  best  I  can." 

At  the  thought  of  how  difficult  it  was  going 
to  be  to  bear,  not  to  be  able  to  tell  anybody 
anything,  she  cried  a  little.  Her  face  was  un- 
contorted  by  her  tears.  They  streamed  down 
her  blossom-colored  cheeks  like  drops  of  pearly 


98          THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

dew.  Julian  thought  her  tears  were  softness, 
and  he  struck  at  his  chance.  Now  perhaps  she 
would  surrender  to  his  hidden  hope. 

He  pleaded,  with  her  head  against  his  heart, 
that  she  would  marry  him,  marry  him  now — 
at  once.  He  could  arrange  it  all  in  twenty- 
four  hours.  He  presented  a  thousand  impet- 
uous arguments.  All  his  wits  and  his  ardor 
fought  for  him  against  her  soft,  closed  eyes. 
She  was  his;  she  would  be  his  forever.  He 
would  go  with  that  great  possession  in  his 
heart ;  he  would  go  like  a  man  crowned  to  meet 
his  future. 

She  opened  her  eyes  at  last  and  moved  away 
from  him.  At  that  instant  she  would  have 
liked  to  marry  him,  she  would  have  liked  it 
very  much;  but  besides  the  fact  that  she  had 
no  things,  there  loomed  the  blank  uncertainty 
of  the  future.  Would  she  be  a  wife  or  a 
widow,  and  how  should  she  know  which  she 
was?  There  were  more  immediate  difficulties. 
Her  parents  were  in  Scotland;  hurried  wed- 
dings were  always  very  awkward ;  you  could  n't 
have  bridesmaids  or  wedding  presents;  and  a 
few  hours'  honeymoon,  with  an  indefinite  part- 
ing ahead  of  it,  would  be  extremely  painful. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE          99 

Even  if  a  marriage  under  all  these  disabili- 
ties was  legal — wouldn't  it  be  worse  than 
illegal — wouldn't  it  be  rather  funny? 

Julian  was  sometimes  impossible;  he  had 
been  nearly  overwhelming,  but  he  was  quite 
impossible.  He  might  be  a  dangerous  man  to 
marry  in  a  hurry.  She  would  have  to  train 
him  first. 

"It 's  out  of  the  question,  Julian,"  she  said 
firmly.  "The  whole  future  is  too  uncertain. 
I  should  love  to — but  I  can't  do  it.  It 
would  n't  be  right  for  me  to  do  it.  We  must 
wait  till  you  come  back." 

Julian  returned  to  his  study  of  the  short 
down  grasses.  He  knew  that  if  she  had  loved 
to — she  would  have  done  it.  He  had  a  mo- 
ment that  was  bitter  with  doubt  and  pain ;  then 
his  love  rose  up  and  swallowed  it.  He  saw 
the  uncertainty  for  her. 

He  wanted  her  now  because  he  knew  that  he 
might  never  have  her.  He  wanted  her  with 
the  fierce  hunger  of  a  pirate  for  a  prize;  but 
the  very  sharpness  of  his  desire  made  him  see 
that  it  was  sheer  selfishness  to  press  his  point. 
He  overlooked  the  fact  that  it  would  have  been 
perfectly  useless.  No  pressure  would  have 


100        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

changed  Marian.  Pressure  had  done  what  it 
could  for  her  already:  it  had  moved  her  to 
tears.  She  dried  them  now,  and  suggested 
that  they  had  stayed  on  the  downs  long  enough. 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  sometimes  seemed  to  Stella  as  if  Chalia- 
pine  had  brought  on  the  war.  Those  last 
long  golden  summer  days  were  filled  with  his 
music,  and  then  suddenly  out  of  them  flashed 
the  tents  in  the  park,  the  processions  of  sol- 
diers and  bands,  the  grim  stir  that  swept  over 
London  like  a  squall  striking  the  surface  of  a 
summer  sea. 

The  town  hall  did  not  collapse,  but  it  shook. 
It  was  a  place  where,  as  a  rule,  the  usual  things 
took  place,  and  even  unusual  things  happened 
usually;  but  there  were  several  weeks  at  the 
beginning  of  the  war  when  all  day  long  strange 
things  happened  strangely.  Offices  were 
changed,  the  routine  of  years  was  swept  up 
like  dust  into  a  dust-pan,  and  a  new  routine, 
subject  to  further  waves  of  change,  took  its 
place.  Workers  voluntarily  offered  to  do 
work  that  they  were  unaccustomed  to  do. 
The  council  hall  became  a  recruiting  office. 
No.  8,  the  peculiar  sanctum  of  the  sanitary 
101 


102        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

inspector,  was  given  up  to  an  army  surveyor. 
Tramps  asked  the  cashier  questions.  It  was 
like  the  first  act  of  "Boris  Goudonoff ."  Even 
food  was  carried  about  on  trays,  and  as  for 
proclamations,  somebody  or  other  was  pro- 
claiming something  all  day  long. 

There  was  no  religion  and  no  dancing,  but 
there  was  the  same  sense  of  brooding,  implac- 
able fate;  it  took  the  place  of  music,  and 
seemed,  without  hurry  and  without  pause,  to 
be  carrying  them  all  along  in  a  secret  rhythm 
of  its  own  toward  an  unseen  goal. 

Mr.  Leslie  Travers  ruled  most  of  the  town 
hall  committees,  and  he  required  innumerable 
statistics  to  be  compiled  and  ready  to  be 
launched  intimidatingly  at  the  first  sign  of  any 
opposition  to  his  ruling. 

Stella,  to  whom  the  work  of  compiling  fell, 
had  very  little  time  to  consider  the  war. 

When  she  got  home  she  usually  went  to 
sleep.  From  time  to  time  she  heard  Mrs. 
Waring  announcing  that  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  war  and  Eurydice  reciting  battle-odes 
to  Belgium. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Eurydice  shared 
a  common  cause.  She  was  inclined  to  believe 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         103 

that  England  was  fighting  for  liberty.  She 
knew  that  France  was,  partly  because  France 
was  on  the  other  side  of  the  channel  and  partly 
because  of  the  French  Revolution.  The  de- 
struction of  Louvain  settled  the  question  of 
Belgium.  To  Eurydice,  whatever  was  de- 
stroyed was  holy.  Later  on  she  became  a  vio- 
lent pacifist  because  Mr.  Bolt  said  that  we  our- 
selves were  Prussian;  but  for  the  moment  no- 
body, not  even  Mr.  Bolt,  had  traced  this  eva- 
sive parallel. 

Professor  Waring  wrote  several  letters  to 
the  papers,  asking  what  precautions  the  Bel- 
gians were  taking  about  Sanskrit  manuscript. 
He  had  a  feeling  that  King  Albert,  though 
doubtless  an  estimable  young  man  and  useful 
in  the  trenches,  might,  like  most  kings,  have 
been  insufficiently  educated  to  appreciate  the 
importance  of  Sanskrit.  That  men  should  die 
in  large  numbers  to  protect  their  country  was 
an  unfortunate  incident  frequent  in  history, 
but  that  a  Sanskrit  manuscript  should  be  de- 
stroyed was  a  national  calamity,  for  the  manu- 
script could  never  be  replaced. 

He  made  an  abortive  effort  to  reach  Bel- 
gium and  see  about  it  himself,  but  at  the  For- 


104        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

eign  Office  he  was  stopped  by  a  young  man 
with  a  single  eyeglass,  from  whom  the  pro- 
fessor had  demanded  a  passport.  The  exact 
expression  used  by  this  ignorant  young  person 
was,  "I  'm  awfully  sorry,  sir,  but  I  'm  afraid 
just  at  present  Sanskrit  manuscript  will  have 
to  rip." 

Professor  Waring  promptly  addressed  let- 
ters of  remonstrance  and  advice  to  several  Ger- 
man professors  upon  the  subject.  They  were 
returned  to  him  after  three  weeks,  with  a  brief 
intimation  that  he  was  not  to  communicate  with 
the  enemy.  Professor  Waring  had  consid- 
ered German  professors  to  be  his  natural  ene- 
mies all  his  life ;  this  had  been  his  chief  reason 
for  communicating  with  them.  He  was  fitted, 
as  few  officials  in  the  Foreign  Office  can  ever 
have  been  fitted,  to  point  out  to  the  German 
professors  the  joints  in  their  armor. 

They  had  a  great  deal  of  armor  and  very 
few  joints,  and  it  discouraged  Professor  War- 
ing to  leave  these  unpierced  spots  to  the  per- 
haps less-practised  hands  of  neutrals. 

But  it  was  not  until  the  destruction  of  Lou- 
rain  that  he  grasped  to  the  full  the  reaction 
of  his  former  antagonists.  When  Professor 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        105 

Waring  read  a  signed  letter  from  some  of  the 
German  professors  agreeing  to  the  destruction 
of  the  famous  Belgian  library  he  acquiesced 
in  the  war.  He  stood  in  front  of  his  wife  and 
woke  Stella  up  in  order  to  make  his  declara- 
tion. 

"Henrietta,  there  is  a  war,"  he  announced. 
"It  is  useless  for  you  to  assert  that  there  is 
not.  Not  only  is  there  a  war,  but  there  should 
be  one;  and  if  I  were  twenty  years  younger, 
though  wholly  unaccustomed  to  the  noisy 
mechanisms  of  physical  destruction,  I  should 
join  in  it.  As  it  is,  I  propose  to  write  a 
treatise  upon  the  German  mind.  It  is  not  one 
of  my  subjects,  and  I  shall  probably  have  to 
neglect  valuable  work  in  order  to  undertake 
it;  still,  my  researches  into  the  rough  Stone 
Age  will  no  doubt  greatly  assist  me.  Many 
just  parallels  have  already  occurred  to  me.  I 
hope  that  no  one  in  this  house  will  be  guilty  of 
so  uneducated  a  frame  of  mind  as  to  sympa- 
thize with  the  Teutonic  iconoclasts  even  to  the 
extent  of  asserting,  as  I  believe  I  heard  you  as- 
sert just  now,  Henrietta,  that  none  of  them 
exist." 

Mrs.   Waring  murmured  gently  that   she 


106        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

thought  an  intense  hopefulness  might  refine 
degraded  natures,  but  the  next  day  she  bought 
wool  and  began  to  knit  a  muffler.  She  had 
capitulated  to  the  fact  of  the  war.  While  she 
knitted  she  patiently  asserted  that  there  was 
no  life,  truth,  intelligence,  or  force  in  matter; 
and  Stella,  when  she  came  home  in  the  even- 
ing, picked  up  the  dropped  stitches. 

It  was  strange  to  Stella  that  her  only  per- 
sonal link  with  the  war  was  a  man  whom  she 
had  seen  only  once  and  might  never  see  again. 
She  thought  persistently  of  Julian.  She 
thought  of  him  for  Marian's  sake,  because 
Marian  was  half  frozen  with  misery.  She 
thought  of  him  because  unconsciously  he  stood 
in  her  mind  for  England.  He  was  an  adven- 
turer, half -god,  half -child,  who  had  the  habit 
of  winning  without  the  application  of  fear. 
She  thought  of  him  because  he  was  the  only 
young,  good-looking  man  of  her  own  class  with 
whom  she  had  ever  talked. 

Marian  was  afraid  that  Stella  might  think 
she  had  been  unsympathetic  to  Julian  about 
his  mission.  She  told  Stella,  with  her  usual 
direct  honesty,  how  angry  she  had  been  with 
him. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         107 

"I  know  I  was  nasty  to  him,"  she  said.  "I 
can't  bear  to  have  any  one  involve  me  first 
and  tell  me  about  it  afterward." 

"Of  course  you  can't,"  agreed  Stella,  flam- 
ing up  with  a  gust  of  annoyance  more  vivid 
than  Marian's  own.  "How  like  him!  How 
exactly  like  him  to  be  so  high-handed !  Fancy 
whirling  you  along  behind  him  as  if  you  were 
a  sack  of  potatoes!  Of  course  you  were  an- 
noyed, and  I  hope  you  gave  him  a  good  sharp 
quarrel.  One  only  has  to  look  at  Julian  to 
see  that  he  ought  to  be  quarreled  with  at  regu- 
lar intervals  in  an  agreeable  way  for  the  rest 
of  his  life." 

"I  don't  like  quarrels,"  Marian  said  slowly. 
"They  don't  seem  to  me  to  be  at  all  agreeable; 
but  I  don't  think  Julian  will  act  without  con- 
sulting me  again." 

Stella  looked  at  Marian  curiously.  What 
was  this  power  that  Marian  had,  which  moved 
with  every  fold  of  her  dress,  and  stood  at  guard 
behind  her  quiet  eyes?  How  had  she  made 
Julian  understand  without  quarreling  that  he 
must  never  repeat  his  independences?  Stella 
was  sure  Marian  had  made  him  understand  it. 
It  would  be  of  no  use  to  ask  Marian  how  she 


108        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

had  done  it,  because  Marian  would  only  laugh 
and  say:  "Nonsense!  It  was  perfectly 
easy."  She  probably  did  not  know  herself 
what  was  the  secret  of  her  power;  she  would 
merely  in  every  circumstance  in  life  composedly 
and  effectively  use  it.  Was  it  perhaps  that 
though  Julian  had  involved  her  actions,  he  had 
never  involved  Marian?  Was  love  a  game  in 
which  the  weakest  lover  always  wins? 

"Of  course  I  Ve  never  been  in  love,"  Stella 
said  slowly,  "and  I  have  n't  the  slightest  idea 
how  it 's  done  or  what  happens  to  you ;  but  I 
fancy  quarreling  might  be  made  very  agree- 
able. Love  is  so  tremendous,  isn't  it,  that 
there  must  be  room  for  concealed  batteries  and 
cavalry  charges;  and  yet  of  course  you  know 
all  the  time  that  you  are  loving  the  person 
more  and  more  outrageously,  so  that  nothing 
gets  wasted  or  destroyed  except  the  edges  you 
are  knocking  off  for  readjustments." 

"I  don't  think  I  do  love  Julian  outrage- 
ously," Marian  objected.  "I  didn't,  you  see, 
do  what  he  wanted :  he  had  a  mad  idea  of  get- 
ting a  special  license  and  having  a  whirlwind 
wedding,  leaving  me  directly  afterward.  Of 
course  I  could  n't  consent  to  that." 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         109 

"Couldn't  you?"  asked  Stella,  wonderingly. 
"I  don't  see  that  it  matters  much,  you  know, 
when  you  give  that  kind  of  thing  to  a  person 
you  love.  If  you  do  love  them,  I  suppose  it 
shows  you  're  willing  to  marry  them,  does  n't 
it  ?  But  how,  when,  or  where  is  like  the  sound 
of  the  dinner-bell.  You  don't  owe  your  din- 
ner to  the  dinner-bell ;  it 's  simply  an  arrange- 
ment for  bringing  you  to  the  table.  Marriage 
always  seems  to  me  just  like  that.  I  should 
have  married  Julian  in  a  second  if  I  'd  been 
you;  but  I  should  have  made  him  understand 
that  I  was  n't  a  sack  of  potatoes,  if  I  'd  had  to 
box  his  ears  regularly  every  few  minutes  for 
twenty-four  hours  at  a  stretch." 

"Surely  marriage  is  sacred,"  said  Marian, 
gravely.  Stella's  point  of  view  was  so  odd  that 
Marian  thought  it  rather  coarse. 

"But  it  needn't  be  long,"  objected  Stella; 
"you  can  be  short  and  sacred  simultaneously. 
In  fact,  I  think  I  could  be  more  sacred  if  I  was 
quick  about  it;  I  should  only  get  bored  if  I 
was  long." 

"You  have  such  a  funny  way  of  putting 
things,"  said  Marian,  a  little  impatiently. 
"Of  course  I  know  what  you  mean,  but  I  don't 


110        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

like  being  hurried.  I  love  Julian  dearly,  and 
I  will  marry  him  when  there  is  time  for  us  to 
do  it  quietly  and  properly.  Meanwhile  it 's 
quite  awful  not  hearing  from  him.  I  have 
never  been  so  miserable  in  my  life." 

Stella  sat  on  the  floor  at  Marian's  feet  with 
Marian's  misery.  She  entered  into  it  so 
deeply  that  after  a  time  Marian  felt  surprised 
as  well  as  comforted.  She  had  not  thought 
grief  so  pictorial.  She  felt  herself  placed  on  a 
pinnacle  and  lifted  above  the  ranks  of  happier 
lovers.  She  thought  it  was  her  love  for  Julian 
that  held  her  there;  she  did  not  know  that  it 
was  Stella's  love  for  her.  Stella  for  a  time 
saw  only  Marian — Marian  frozen  in  a  vast  sus- 
pense, Marian  racked  with  silences  and  tor- 
tured with  imagined  dangers.  She  did  not 
see  Julian  until  Marian  had  gone,  and  then 
suddenly  she  put  her  hands  to  her  throat,  as  if 
she  could  not  bear  the  sharp  pulsation  of  fear 
that  assailed  her.  If  all  this  time  they  were 
only  fearing  half  enough  and  Julian  should  be 
dead? 

She  whispered,  "Julian  dead!"  Then  she 
knew  that  she  was  not  feeling  any  more  for 
Marian.  She  was  feeling  for  herself.  For- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        111 

tunately,  she  knew  this  did  n't  matter.  Feel- 
ing for  oneself  was  sharp  and  abominable,  but 
it  could  be  controlled.  It  did  not  count;  and 
she  could  keep  this  much  of  Julian — the  fear 
that  he  might  be  dead.  It  would  not  interfere 
with  Marian  or  with  Julian.  Hopes  interfere : 
but  Stella  had  no  personal  hopes ;  she  did  not 
even  envisage  them.  She  claimed  only  the 
freedom  of  her  fears. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IT  is  disconcerting  to  believe  that  you  are 
the  possessor  of  one  kind  of  temper — a 
cold,  deadly,  on-the-spot  temper — which  cuts 
through  the  insignificant  flurries  of  other  peo- 
ple like  a  knife  through  butter,  and  then  to 
find  a  sloppy  explosiveness  burst  from  you  un- 
aware. 

Mr.  Travers  had  never  dreamed  that  in  the 
town  hall  itself  he  could  ever  be  led  to  lose  a 
thing  he  had  in  such  entire  control  as  his  tem- 
per. He  did  not  lose  it  when  the  blushing  Mr. 
Belk  had  the  audacity  to  stop  him  in  mid-ca- 
reer, on  his  way  to  his  sanctum  through  Xo.  7, 
the  outer  office  of  his  assistant  clerks,  though 
they  were,  as  a  body,  strictly  forbidden  to  ad- 
dress him  while  passing  to  and  fro.  Mr.  Belk 
was  so  ill  advised  as  to  say: 

"If  you  please,  sir,  it 's  four  o'clock,  and 
Miss  Waring  has  n't  been  out  to  lunch  yet." 
Mr.  Travers  merely  ran  his  eye  over  Mr.  Belk 

as  a  fishmonger  runs  his  eyes  over  vulnerable 
112 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         113 

portions  of  cod  laid  out  for  cutting,  and 
brought  down  his  chopper  at  an  expert  angle. 

"Since  when,  Mr.Belk,"he  asked,  with  weary 
irony,  "has  Miss  Waring's  lunch  been  on  your 
list  of  duties?" 

Then  he  passed  swiftly  into  his  office  and 
faced  Stella,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 
Temper  shook  him  as  a  rough  wind  shakes  an 
insignificant  obstacle.  He  could  not  hold  it; 
it  was  gone.  It  blew  inside  out  like  a  de- 
ranged umbrella.  He  glared  at  Miss  War- 
ing. There  was  nothing  in  her  slight,  bent  fig- 
ure, with  its  heavy,  brown  hair  neatly  plaited 
in  a  crown  about  her  head,  which  should  have 
roused  any  town  clerk  to  sudden  fury. 

"It 's  abominable,"  Mr.  Travers  exclaimed, 
bringing  his  trembling  hand  down  with  a  bang 
upon  Stella's  table,  "how  women  behave!" 

Stella  said  out  loud,  "One  hundred  pounds, 
ten  shillings,  and  sixpence,"  and  then  looked  up 
at  her  employer.  She  asked  very  quietly  who 
had  vexed  him.  There  might  have  been  a  fugi- 
tive gleam  of  laughter  at  the  back  of  her  eyes, 
but  there  were  shadows  un'der  them  that  made 
her  look  too  tired  for  laughter. 

"You,  of  course,"  he  cried.     "How  are  we 


114        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

ever  to  get  through  with  our  work  if  you  won't 
eat?  It's  so  silly!  It's  so  tiresome!  It's 
so  uncalled  for!  Why  are  you  doing  these 
wretched  lists  now?" 

"Because,"  said  Stella — and  now  the  laugh- 
ter ran  out  at  him  unexpectedly  and  tripped 
him  up — "the  town  clerk  has  a  meeting  at  five 
o'clock  at  which  these  statistics  must  be  at 
hand  to  justify  him  in  having  his  own  way!" 

"Put  them  down!"  said  Mr.  Tr avers  sav- 
agely. Stella  laid  down  her  pen  with  the  ready 
obedience  which  can  be  made  so  baffling  when 
it  proceeds  from  an  unconsenting  will.  "Xow 
go  out  and  get  something  to  eat,"  he  went  on, 
"while  I  do  the  wretched  things.  And  don't 
let  this  occur  again.  If  you  have  too  much  to 
do, — and  I  know  the  correspondence  gets  more 
and  more  every  day, — mention  it.  We  must 
get  some  help  in." 

She  was  gone  before  he  had  finished  his  sen- 
tence— gone  with  that  absurd  dimple  in  the 
corner  of  her  cheek  and  the  sliding  laughter  of 
her  eyes. 

She  had  left  behind  her  a  curious,  restless 
emptiness,  as  if  the  very  room  itself  waited 
impatiently  for  her  return.  It  was  half  an 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        115 

hour  before  she  came  back.  The  town  clerk 
had  had  to  answer  three  telephone  messages 
and  four  telegrams.  If  the  outer  office  had 
not  known  that  he  was  there  and  Miss  Waring 
was  n't,  he  would  have  had  more  interruptions. 
Nevertheless,  the  figures  had  helped  Mr.  Trav- 
ers  to  recover  his  temper. 

He  was  an  expert  accountant,  and  you  can 
take  figures  upon  their  face-value.  They  are 
not  like  women ;  they  have  no  dimples. 

Mr.  Travers  was  prepared  to  be  the  stern, 
but  just,  employer  again.  He  remained 
seated,  and  Stella  leaned  over  his  shoulder. 
He  had  not  expected  that  she  would  do  this. 

"What  have  you  had  to  eat?"  he  asked.  It 
was  not  at  all  what  he  had  intended  to  say  to 
Stella. 

"A  cup  of  tea,  two  ham  sandwiches,  and  a 
bun — such  a  magnificent  spread  for  seven- 
pence!"  replied  Stella,  cheerfully.  "You've 
forgotten  to  put  in  what  the  insurance  will  be 
-—there  at  the  bottom  of  the  page." 

Mr.  Travers  rose  to  his  feet.  He  was  taller 
than  Stella,  and  he  considered  that  he  had  a 
commanding  presence.  Stella  slid  back  into 
her  seat. 


116        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"You  ought  to  have  had,"  said  Mr.  Travers, 
with  labored  quietness,  "beefsteak  and  a  glass 
of  port." 

"Anybody  could  tell,"  said  Stella,  tranquilly, 
"that  you  are  an  abstemious  man,  Mr.  Travers. 
Port!  Port  and  steak!  You  mean  porter. 
All  real  drinkers  know  that  port  is  sacred. 
Bottles  of  it  covered  with  exquisite  cobwebs 
are  kept  for  choice  occasions ;  they  are  brought 
in  softly  by  stately  butlers,  walking  delicately 
like  Agag.  It  is  drunk  in  companionable 
splendor,  tenderly  ministered  to  by  nothing 
more  solid  than  a  walnut,  and  it  follows  the 
courses  of  the  sun.  There,  you  did  quite  a 
lot  while  I  was  away,  and  if  you  don't  mind 
just  looking  through  those  landlords'  repair- 
ing leases  on  your  desk,  I  dare  say  I  shall  have 
finished  this  before  five." 

Mr.  Travers  opened  his  mouth,  shut  it  again, 
and  returned  to  his  repairing  leases.  He  was 
not  an  employer  any  more.  He  was  not  an 
icy,  mysterious  tyrant  ruling  over  a  trembling 
and  docile  universe:  his  own  secretary  had  lit- 
terally  told  him  to  run  away  and  play! 

But  it  was  in  the  night  watches  that  the 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        117 

worst  truth  struck  him.  He  had  been  furious 
with  Miss  Waring  for  not  spending  more  upon 
her  lunch,  he  had  upbraided  her  for  it,  and  she 
had  never  turned  round  and  said,  "Look  what 
I  earn!"  The  opportunity  was  made  to  her 
hand.  "How  can  women  secretaries  earning 
a  hundred  a  year  eat  three-and-sixpenny 
lunches?"  That  ought  to  have  been  her  an- 
swer. Why  was  n't  it?  She  had  n't  been  too 
stupid  to  see  it.  She  had  seen  it,  and  she  had 
instantly,  before  he  had  had  time  to  see  it  him- 
self, covered  it  up  and  hidden  it  under  that  un- 
called-for eulogy  on  port.  It  was  not  fear. 
She  had  n't  been  afraid  to  stand  up  to  him  (un- 
called-for eulogies  were  standing  up  to  him) ; 
besides  she  had  previously  called  him  unfair  to 
his  face.  It  was  just  something  that  Miss 
Waring  was — something  that  made  the  color 
spring  into  Mr.  Traver's  face  in  the  dark  till 
his  cheeks  burned;  something  that  had  made 
Mr.  Belk  dare  his  chief's  displeasure  to  get  her 
lunch ;  something  that  was  n't  business. 

"She  wouldn't  take  an  advantage,  because 
I  'd  given  it  to  her,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I 
thought  everybody  took  an  advantage  when 


118        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

they  had  the  sense  to  see  it ;  but  she  does  n't, 
though  she  has  plenty  of  sense.  But  the 
world  could  n't  go  on  like  that." 

This  brilliant  idea  reassured  Mr.  Travers; 
he  stopped  blushing.  He  was  relieved  to  think 
that  the  world  could  n't  go  on  like  Stella ;  but 
there  was  something  in  him,  a  faint  contradic- 
tory something,  that  made  him  glad  that  Stella 
did  n't  go  on  like  the  world. 

He  went  to  sleep  with  these  two  points  un- 
reconciled. 


CHAPTER  XII 

STELLA  had  always  known  that  it  would 
come ;  she  had  spent  two  months  far-seeing 
it.  It  had  usually  taken  the  form  of  a  telegram 
falling  out  of  Mrs.  Waring's  wool,  or  Eury- 
dice  standing  upon  the  steps,  Cassandra-like, 
to  greet  her  with  a  message  from  Marian. 
Marian  would  come  to  give  her  the  message, 
but  she  would  n't  wait ;  she  would  drive  swiftly 
away  in  a  motor,  and  leave  the  broken  uni- 
verse behind  her.  But  disasters  do  not  come 
as  we  have  planned  their  coming. 

It  was  a  dull  November  day,  the  streets  were 
full  of  dying  leaves,  and  at  the  end  of  all  the 
cross-roads  surrounding  the  town  hall  a  blue 
mist  hung  like  a  curtain.  Marian,  in  black 
velvet  and  furs,  with  old  Spanish  ear-rings 
gleaming  from  her  shell-like  ears,  stood  in  dis- 
gust upon  the  steps  of  the  town  hall.  Her 
small  face  was  frozen  with  unexpected  pain, 
but  she  could  still  feel  annoyed  with  the  por- 
no 


120        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

ter.  She  stood  in  the  thronged  corridor  and 
asked  decisively  for  Miss  Waring. 

The  porter  told  her  that  Miss  Waring 
worked  in  No.  7,  or,  at  any  rate,  No.  7  would 
know  where  she  was  working. 

Marian  stared  slightly  over  the  porter's 
head. 

"My  good  man,"  she  said,  "how  am  I  to 
know  where  No.  7  is?  Go  and  tell  her  to 
rome  to  me.  Here  is  my  card." 

All  the  way  to  No.  7  the  porter  concocted 
brilliant  retorts  to  this  order.  He  would  tell 
her  he  was  not  a  footman  and  that  this  was  n't 
Buckingham  Palace.  He  would  say  roughly 
that,  if  she  had  eyes  in  her  head,  she  could  find 
No.  7  for  herself.  But  he  was  intimidated  by 
Marian's  ear-rings.  A  secret  fear  that  she 
might  turn  out  to  be  the  lord  mayor's  daugh- 
ter drove  him  to  No.  7. 

Stella  was  filing  letters  when  he  knocked, 
and  when  she  saw  the  card  she  knew  the  mes- 
senger had  come ;  but  she  did  not  forget  to  say 
as  usual,  "Oh,  thank  you,  Humphreys." 

She  finished  filing  the  letters  before  she 
looked  for  Mr.  Tr avers. 

He  was  coming  out  of  the  council  chamber 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        121 

at  the  top  of  a  flight  of  stairs.  She  stood 
there  for  a  moment,  holding  him  with  her  eyes, 
her  lips  parted.  She  looked  like  a  bird  that 
has  been  caught  in  a  room  and  despairs  of  find- 
ing the  way  out. 

Her  face  was  strained  and  eager,  and  her 
sensitive  eyebrows  were  drawn  together  in  a 
little  tortured  frown;  but  she  spoke  quietly  as 
soon  as  her  breath  came  back  to  her. 

"Mr.  Travers,  a  friend  of  mine  is  in  trouble. 
May  I  go  to  her  for  the  afternoon?  There  is 
still  a  great  deal  to  do, — I  know  I  ought  not 
to  ask  you  to  let  me  go, — but  Mr.  Belk  and 
Miss  Flint  are  so  kind  that  I  am  sure  they 
would  help  me.  I — I  should  be  very  grateful 
if  you  could  spare  me." 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  sharply. 
"I  mean,  of  course,  you  can  go;  but  I  won't 
have  Mr.  Belk  or  Miss  Flint  near  me.  I  will 
do  the  work  myself." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  aghast  at  this  magnanimous 
humility  on  the  part  of  her  employer,  "please 
don't!  Do  let  me  ask  them!  I'd  so  much 
rather—" 

Mr.  Travers  waved  her  away.  He  wanted 
to  do  the  work  himself,  and  he  wanted  her  to 


122        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

be  aghast.  He  descended  the  stairs  rapidly 
beside  her. 

"You  may  leave  immediately,  Miss  War- 
ing," he  said  sternly  as  they  reached  No.  7; 
"and  I  will  make  my  own  arrangements  about 
your  work." 

Stella  fled.  Again  he  felt  the  sense  of 
wings,  as  if  he  had  opened  a  window,  and  a 
bird  had  flown  past  him  into  liberty. 

He  did  not  want  her  to  be  grateful,  but  he 
thought  she  might  have  looked  back.  She  had 
noticed  him  only  as  a  barrier  unexpectedly 
fallen.  She  had  not  seen  how  strange  it  was 
that  a  barrier  of  so  stubborn  and  erect  a  nature 
as  Mr.  Travers  should  have  consented  to  fall. 

If  any  one  else  had  asked  him  for  an  after- 
noon with  a  friend  in  trouble,  Mr.  Travers 
knew  that  he  would  have  said,  "Your  friends' 
troubles  must  take  place  outside  office-hours." 
But  when  he  had  seen  Stella's  face  he  had  for- 
gotten office-hours. 

Marian  was  sitting  on  a  chair  in  the  corridor. 
Her  expression  implied  that  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  a  town  hall,  and  that  the  chair  was  a 
mere  concession  to  unnecessary  space.  She 
said,  as  she  saw  Stella: 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         123 

"Please  be  quick  about  putting  your  things 
on.  Yes,  it 's  bad  news  about  Julian." 

Stella  was  quick.  Marian  said  no  more  un- 
til they  were  seated  together  in  the  motor; 
then  she  gave  Stella  a  letter  she  had  received 
from  Lady  Verny.  Lady  Verny  wrote: 

My  dear  Marian:  You  must  prepare  yourself  for  a 
great  distress.  Julian  is  in  England,  but  he  is  very 
much  injured.  I  want  you  to  go  to  him  at  once.  When- 
ever he  is  conscious  he  asks  for  you.  My  dear,  if  he 
recovers, — and  they  think  that  if  he  has  an  incentive  to 
live  he  will  live, — he  will  be  partially  paralyzed.  I  know 
that  he  will  want  to  free  you,  and  it  will  be  right  that 
you  should  even  now  feel  free;  but  till  then — for  a 
month — will  you  give  him  all  you  can?  All  he  needs 
to  live  ?  It  is  a  great  deal  to  ask  of  you,  but  I  think  you 
are  good  and  kind,  and  that  I  shall  not  ask  this  of 
you  in  vain.  His  life  is  valuable,  and  will  still  be  so,  for 
his  brain  is  not  affected.  Before  he  relapsed  into  un- 
consciousness he  was  able  to  give  the  Government  the 
information  he  acquired.  I  think  it  is  not  wrong  to  help 
him  to  live ;  but  of  course  I  am  his  mother,  and  it  is  diffi- 
cult for  me  to  judge.  All  this  is  very  terrible  for  you, 
even  the  deciding  of  whether  you  ought  to  help  him  to 
live  or  not.  If  I  might  suggest  anything  to  you,  it 
would  be  to  talk  about  it  with  that  friend  of  yours,  Miss 
Waring. 

Come  to  me  when  you  have  seen  him.  Do  not  think, 
whatever  your  decision  is,  that  I  shall  not  realize  what 


124         THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

it  costs  you,  or  fail  to  do  all  in  my  power  to  help  you 
to  carry  it  out. 

Yours  affectionately, 

HELEN  VERNY. 

'Stella  dropped  the  letter  and  looked  at  Ma- 
rian. Marian  sat  erect,  and  her  eyes  burned. 
She  was  tearless  and  outraged  by  sorrow. 
There  are  people  who  take  joy  as  a  personal 
virtue  and  sorrow  as  a  personal  insult,  and 
Marian  was  one  of  these  people.  Happiness 
had  softened  and  uplifted  her;  pain  struck 
her  down  and  humiliated  her  solid  sense  of 
pride. 

"Why  was  n't  he  killed?"  she  asked  bitterly, 
meeting  Stella's  questioning  eyes.  "I  could 
have  borne  his  being  killed.  Value!  What 
does  Lady  Verny  mean  by  value  ?  His  career 
is  smashed;  his  life  is  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
poses over.  And  mine  with  it!  It  is  very 
kind  of  her  to  say  he  will  release  me.  I  do 
not  need  his  mother  to  tell  me  that.  She  seems 
to  have  overlooked  the  fact  that  I  have  given 
him  my  word!  Is  it  likely  that  I  should  fail 
him  or  that  I  could  consent  to  be  released?  I 
do  not  need  any  one  to  tell  me  my  duty.  But 
I  hate  life!  I  hate  it!  I  think  it  all  stupid, 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        125 

vile,  senseless!  Why  did  I  ever  meet  him? 
What  good  has  love  been  to  me?  A  few 
hours'  happiness,  and  then  this  martyrdom  set 
like  a  trap  to  catch  us!  And  I  don't  like  in- 
valids. I  have  never  seen  any  one  very  ill.  I 
sha'n't  know  what  to  say  to  him." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,  when  you  see  him,"  said 
Stella;  it  was  all  that  for  a  while  she  could 
say. 

She  had  always  believed  that  Marian  had 
a  deep,  but  close-locked,  nature.  Love  pre- 
sumably would  be  the  key. 

It  was  unlocked  now.  Pain  had  unlocked 
it,  instead  of  love,  and  Stella  shivered  at  the 
tearless  hardness,  the  sharp,  shallow  sense  of 
personal  privation  that  occupied  Marian's 
heart.  She  had  not  yet  thought  of  Julian. 

Stella  told  herself  that  Marian's  was  only 
the  blindness  of  the  unimaginative.  The  mo- 
ment Marian  saw  Julian  it  would  pass,  and 
yield  before  the  directer  illumination  of  the 
heart.  Marian's  nature  was  perhaps  one  of 
those  that  yields  very  slowly  to  pain.  When 
she  saw  Julian  she  would  forget  everything 
else.  She  would  not  think  of  her  losses  and 
sacrifices  any  more,  or  her  duties. 


126        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Stella  felt  curiously  stung  and  wasted  by 
Marian's  use  of  the  word  "duty."  Was  that 
all  there  was  for  the  woman  whom  Julian 
loved?  Was  that  all  there  was  for  Julian! 

But  she  could  deal  only  with  what  Marian 
had;  so,  when  she  spoke  again,  Stella  said  all 
she  could  to  comfort  Marian.  She  spoke  of 
Julian's  courage;  she  said  no  life  in  Julian 
could  be  useless  that  left  his  brain  free  to  act. 
She  suggested  that  he  would  find  a  new  career 
for  himself,  and  she  pictured  his  future  suc- 
cesses. Beneath  her  lips  and  her  quick  outer 
mind  she  thought  only  of  Julian,  broken. 

They  stopped  in  a  large,  quiet  square,  at 
the  door  of  a  private  hospital.  There  was  no 
sound  but  the  half-notes  of  birds  stirring  at 
twilight  in  the  small  square  garden,  and  far  off 
the  muffled  murmur  of  distant  streets. 

A  nurse  opened  the  door. 

"You  are  Miss  Young?"  she  said  to  Marian. 
"Yes,  of  course,  we  were  expecting  you.  Sis- 
ter would  like  to  see  you  first." 

They  stood  for  a  moment  in  a  small  neat 
office.  The  sister  rose  from  an  old  Dutch  bu- 
reau, one  of  the  traces  of  the  house's  former 
occupants,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  Marian. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         127 

Her  eyes  rested  with  intentness  upon  the  girl's 
face. 

"Sir  Julian  is  almost  certain  to  know  you," 
she  said  gently,  "but  you  must  n't  talk  much  to 
him.  He  has  been  much  weakened  by  expo- 
sure. He  lay  in  a  wood  for  three  days  without 
food  or  water.  There  is  every  hope  of  his  par- 
tial recovery,  Miss  Young;  but  he  needs  rest 
and  reassurance.  We  can  give  him  the  rest 
here,  but  we  must  look  to  you  to  help  us  to 
bring  back  to  him  the  love  of  life." 

Marian  stood  with  her  beautiful  head  raised 
proudly.  She  waited  for  a  moment  to  control 
her  voice ;  then  she  asked  quietly  : 

"Is  the  paralysis  likely  to  be  permanent?" 

The  sister  moved  a  chair  toward  her,  but 
Marian  shook  her  head. 

"It  is  a  state  of  partial  paralysis.  He  will 
be  able  to  get  about  on  crutches,"  the  sister  re- 
plied. "Won't  you  rest  for  a  few  moments 
before  going  up  to  him,  Miss  Young?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Marian;  "I  will  go 
up  to  him  at  once." 

She  turned  quickly  toward  the  door,  and 
meeting  Stella's  eyes,  she  took  and  held  her 
arm  tightly  for  a  moment,  and  then,  loosing  it, 


128        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

walked  quickly  toward  the  stairs.  Stella  fol- 
lowed her  as  if  she  had  no  being.  She  had 
lost  all  consciousness  of  herself.  She  was  a 
thought  that  clung  to  Julian,  an  unbodied  idea 
fixed  upon  the  cross  of  Julian's  pain.  She  did 
not  see  the  staircase  up  which  she  passed;  she 
walked  through  the  wood  in  which  Julian  had 
lain  three  days. 

He  was  in  a  large,  airy  room  with  two  other 
men.  Stella  did  not  know  which  was  Julian 
until  he  opened  his  eyes.  There  was  no  color 
in  his  face,  and  very  little  substance.  The 
other  men  were  raised  in  bed  and  looked  alive, 
but  Julian  lay  like  something  made  of  wax 
and  run  into  a  mold.  Only  his  eyes  lived — 
lived  and  flickered,  and  held  on  to  his  drifting 
consciousness. 

The  nurse  guided  Marian  to  his  bed,  and, 
drawing  a  chair  forward,  placed  it  close  to  him. 
Marian  leaned  down  and  kissed  his  forehead. 
She  had  determined  to  do  that,  whatever  he 
looked  like ;  and  she  did  it. 

His  lips  moved.  She  bent  down,  and  a 
whisper  reached  her :  "I  said  I  'd  come  back 
to  you,  and  I  have."  Then  he  closed  his  eyes. 
He  had  nothing  further  to  say. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         129 

Marian  did  not  cry.  After  the  first  mo- 
ment she  did  not  look  at  Julian;  she  looked 
away  from  him  out  of  the  window.  She  did 
not  feel  that  it  was  Julian  who  lay  there  like 
a  broken  toy.  It  was  her  duty.  She  had  sub- 
mitted to  it;  but  nothing  in  her  responded  to 
this  submission  except  her  iron  will. 

The  nurse  had  forgotten  to  bring  a  chair  for 
Stella.  She  leaned  against  the  door  until  a 
red-haired  boy  with  a  bandaged  arm,  on  the 
bed  nearest  to  her,  exclaimed  earnestly: 

"Do  take  my  chair!  You  look  awfully 
done." 

She  was  able  to  take  his  chair  because  her 
hands  were  less  blind  than  any  other  part  of 
her,  and  she  smiled  at  him  because  she  had  the 
habit  of  smiling  when  she  thanked  people. 
Then  her  eyes  went  back  to  Julian.  Her 
heart  had  never  left  him;  and  she  knew  now 
that  it  never  would  leave  him  again. 

She  did  not  know  how  long  or  short  it  was 
before  Marian  rose  gracefully,  and  said  in  her 
clear,  sweet  voice,  "I  shall  come  again  to- 
morrow, Julian." 

Marian  stopped  at  each  of  the  other  bed- 
sides before  she  joined  Stella.  She  said  little, 


130        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

friendly,  inclusive  words  to  the  other  two  men, 
which  made  them  feel  as  if  they  would  like  to 
sweep  the  floor  under  her  feet. 

"All  the  same,"  the  red-haired  man  explained 
after  the  door  closed,  "it  was  the  untidy  little 
one,  piled  up  against  the  door,  that  minded 
most.  I  dare  say  she  was  his  sister." 

He  had  no  need  to  lower  his  voice,  though 
he  did  lower  it,  for  fear  of  its  reaching  Julian. 

Julian  had  been  reassured,  and  now  he  was 
resting.  Consciousness  had  altogether  re- 
ceded from  him,  perhaps  that  it  might  give  him 
a  better  chance  of  resting. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

JULIAN  roused  himself  with  the  feeling 
that  he  had  said  only  half  of  what  he  had 
intended  to  say  to  Marian.  It  had  been  in 
his  mind  a  long  time.  It  was  while  he  was 
lying  out  under  the  pine-trees  that  he  had  real- 
ized what  he  had  got  to  say  to  Marian  if  he  ever 
got  back.  There  was  a  complicated  cipher 
message  for  the  Government,  which  he  had  kept 
quite  clear  in  his  mind,  and  eventually  given  to 
an  intelligent  doctor  to  send  off;  and  there  was 
the  message  to  Marian,  which  he  himself  would 
have  to  say  when  lie  saw  her. 

"I  Ve  come  back,  as  I  promised;  but  I  can't 
marry  you  now,  of  course.  I  'm  a  crock." 

The  first  time  he  saw  Marian  he  had  got 
through  only  the  first  part  of  the  sentence. 
There  was  no  hurry  about  the  rest  of  it.  The 
doctor  and  the  sister  had  both  assured  him 
that  there  was  no  hurry.  They  had  been  very 
kind,  and  quite  as  honest  as  their  profession 

131 


132         THE  SECOXD  FIDDLE 

permitted.  They  said  Marian  would  come 
back,  and  he  could  tell  her  then. 

They  admitted,  when  he  cross-questioned 
them  with  all  the  sharpness  of  which  he  was 
capable,  that  he  would  be  a  cripple.  They  did 
not  bother  him  with  futile  commiserations. 
They  gave  him  quietly  and  kindly  the  facts 
he  asked  for.  He  would  never  be  able  to  walk 
again,  but  he  could  get  about  easily  on 
crutches. 

Julian  did  not  want  to  live  very  much,  but 
his  mother's  eyes  hurt  him  when  he  tried  not 
to;  and  then  Marian  came  again,  and  he  got 
through  the  rest  of  his  sentence. 

"You  see,"  he  explained  in  a  low  whisper 
which  sounded  in  his  head  like  a  gong,  "mar- 
riage is  quite  out  of  the  question." 

Marian  was  there  with  smiles  and  flowers, 
just  as  he  had  so  often  pictured  her;  but  she 
sat  down  with  a  curious  solidity,  and  her  voice 
sounded  clearer  than  it  had  sounded  in  his 
dreams. 

"Nothing  alters  our  engagement,  Julian," 
she  said.  "Nothing  can." 

She  spoke  with  a  finality  that  stopped  his 
thinking.  He  had  finished  his  sentence,  and 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         133 

it  seemed  hardly  fair  to  be  expected  to  start 
another  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  He  gave 
himself  up  to  a  feeling  of  intense  relief:  he  had 
got  off  his  cipher  to  the  Government  and  he 
had  released  Marian. 

He  had  known  these  were  going  to  be  diffi- 
cult things  to  do.  The  cipher  had  been  the 
worst.  The  French  doctor  had  taken  some 
time  to  understand  that  Julian  must  neither 
die  nor  be  attended  to  until  he  had  sent  the  ci- 
pher off;  and  now  the  business  about  Marian 
was  over,  too.  He  had  only  to  lie  there  and 
look  at  her  day  by  day  coming  in  with  roses. 
They  did  not  talk  much.  Julian  never  spoke 
of  his  symptoms,  but  they  were  too  radical  to 
free  him.  He  lay  under  them  like  a  creature 
pinned  under  the  wreckage  of  a  railway  acci- 
dent. 

Slowly,  day  by  day,  his  strength  came  back 
to  him;  and  as  it  came  back,  peace  receded. 
His  eyes  lost  their  old  adoring  indulgence; 
they  seemed  to  be  watching  Marian  covertly, 
anxious  for  some  gift  that  she  was  withhold- 
ing from  him.  He  did  not  demand  this  as  a 
right,  as  the  old  Julian  would  have  done, 
breaking  down  the  barriers  of  her  pride  to 


134        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

reach  it.  He  pleaded  for  it  with  shamed  eyes 
that  met  hers  only  to  glance  away.  Some- 
thing in  her  that  was  not  cruelty  as  much  as  a 
baffling  desire  to  escape  him  made  her  refuse 
to  give  him  what  his  eyes  asked. 

Julian  had  loved  her  for  her  elusiveness, 
and  the  uncaptured  does  not  yield  readily  to 
any  appeal  from  the  hunter.  The  prize  is  to 
the  strong. 

She  would  not  have  withstood  a  spoken  wish 
of  his ;  but  there  is  something  in  speechless  suf- 
fering from  which  light  sympathies  shrink 
away.  Pity  lay  in  Marian  a  tepid,  quickly 
roused  feeling,  blowing  neither  hot  nor  cold. 
She  cried  easily  over  sad  books,  but  she  had 
none  of  the  maternal  instinct  which  seizes  upon 
the  faintest  indication  of  pain  with  a  com- 
bative passion  for  its  alleviation.  She  became 
antagonistic  when  she  was  personally  dis- 
turbed by  suffering. 

She  was  keeping  her  word  to  Julian  while 
her  heart  was  drifting  away  from  him ;  and  he* 
while  he  desired  her  to  be  free,  instinctively 
tried  to  hold  her  back.  They  had  both  put 
their  theories  before  their  instincts,  and  they 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        135 

expected  their  instincts  to  stand  aside  until 
their  theories  had  been  carried  out. 

Perhaps  if  Julian  could  have  told  her  his  ex- 
periences he  might  have  recaptured  her  im- 
agination; but  when  she  asked  him  to  tell  her 
about  them,  he  said  quickly,  "I  can't,"  and 
turned  away  his  head.  He  was  afraid  to  trust 
himself.  He  wanted  to  tell  her  everything. 
He  was  afraid  that  if  he  began,  his  reticence 
would  break  down,  and  he  would  tell  her 
things  which  must  never  pass  his  lips.  He 
longed  for  her  to  know  that  every  day,  and 
nearly  every  hour,  he  had  fought  and  con- 
quered intricate  abnormal  obstacles.  He  had 
slipped  across  imminent  death  as  a  steady 
climber  grips  and  passes  across  the  face  of  a 
precipice. 

He  had  never  faltered.  All  that  he  had 
gone  to  find  he  had  found,  and  more.  At  each 
step  he  had  seen  a  fresh  opportunity,  and 
taken  it.  He  had  been  like  a  bicyclist  in 
heavy  traffic  assailed  on  every  side  by  con- 
verging vehicles,  and  yet  seeing  only  the  one 
wavering  ribbon  of  his  way  out.  And  he  had 
won  his  way  out  with  knowledge  that  was 


136        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

worth  a  king's  ransom.  He  could  have  borne 
anything  if  Marian  would  realize  that  what  he 
had  borne  had  been  worth  while.  But  after 
her  first  unanswered  question,  Marian  never 
referred  again  to  what  he  had  done.  She  be- 
haved as  if  his  services  had  been  a  regrettable 
mistake. 

She  talked  with  real  feeling  about  the  suffer- 
ings of  those  who  fought  in  the  war.  Her 
eyes  seemed  to  tell  him  what  her  lips  refrained 
from  uttering,  that  she  could  have  been  more 
sorry  for  him  if  he  had  been  wounded  in  a 
trench,  and  not  shot  at  and  abandoned  by  a 
nervous  sentry  firing  in  the  dark.  He  could 
not  remember  the  exact  moment  when  out  of 
the  vague  turmoil  of  his  weakened  mind  he 
gripped  this  cold  truth:  Marian  was  not  ten- 
der. 

When  she  was  not  there  he  could  pretend. 
He  could  make  up  all  the  beautiful,  loving  lit- 
tle things  she  had  not  said,  and  sometimes  he 
would  not  remember  that  he  had  made  them 
up.  Those  were  the  best  moments  of  all.  He 
believed  then  that  she  had  given  him  what 
his  heart  hungered  for.  He  was  too  much 
ashamed  of  his  ruined  strength  to  feel  resent- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         137 

ment  at  Marian's  coldness.  It  struck  him  as 
natural  that  she  should  care  less  for  a  broken 
man. 

His  mind  traveled  slowly,  knocking  against 
the  edges  of  his  old  dreams. 

He  thought  perhaps  a  nursing  home  was  n't 
the  kind  of  place  in  which  people  could  really 
understand  one  another,  all  mixed  up  with 
screens  and  medicine  bottles,  and  nurses  bring- 
ing things  in  on  trays.  If  he  could  see  Marian 
once  at  Amberley  for  the  last  time,  so  that  he 
could  keep  the  picture  of  her  moving  about 
the  dark  wainscoted  rooms,  or  looking  out  from 
the  terrace  above  the  water  meadows,  he  would 
have  something  precious  to  remember  for  the 
rest  of  his  life ;  and  she  might  n't  mind  him  so 
much  there,  surrounded  by  the  dignity  of  the 
old  background  of  his  race.  One  day  he  said 
to  her : 

"I  want  to  go  to  Amberley  as  soon  as  I  can 
be  moved.  I  want  to  see  it  again  with  you." 

"In  December?"  asked  Marian,  with  lifted, 
disapproving  brows.  "It  would  be  horribly 
damp,  my  dear  Julian,  all  water-meadows  and 
mist.  You  would  be  much  more  comfortable 
here." 


138        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Julian  frowned.  He  hated  the  word  "com- 
fort" in  connection  with  himself. 

"You  don't  understand,"  he  said,  a  little  im- 
patiently. "I  know  every  inch  of  it,  and  it 's 
quite  jolly  in  the  winter.  We  are  above  the 
water.  I  want  to  see  the  downs.  One  gets 
tired  of  milk-carts  and  barrel  organs,  and  the 
brown  tank  on  the  roof  across  the  way.  You 
remember  the  downs,  Marian?" 

His  eyes  met  hers  again  with  that  new,  curi- 
ously weak  look  of  his.  Marian  turned  her 
head  away.  How  could  Julian  bear  to  speak 
of  the  downs? 

She  saw  for  a  moment  the  old  Julian  spring- 
ing up  the  hillside  assured  and  eager,  the  fine, 
strong  lover  who  had  taken  her  heart  by  storm. 
She  spoke  coldly  to  this  weaker  Julian. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am  not  likely  to  forget 
the  downs.  I  spent  the  last  happy  hours  of 
my  life  there ;  but  I  cannot  say  I  ever  wish  to 
see  them  again." 

Julian's  eyes  fell,  so  that  she  could  not  see 
if  he  had  even  noticed  how  bitterly  she  remem- 
bered Amberley. 

The  next  day  she  found  him  sitting  up  for 
the  first  time.  He  was  propped  up  by  cush- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         139 

ions,  but  it  made  him  look  as  if  he  had  gained 
some  of  his  old  incisive  strength. 

The  other  two  men  had  been  moved,  and 
they  had  the  large,  bare  room  to  themselves. 

No  sound  came  from  the  square  beneath 
them;  in  the  house  itself  there  were  passing 
footsteps  and  the  occasional  persistent  buzzing 
of  an  electric  bell. 

"Look  here,"  said  Julian  in  a  queer,  dry 
voice,  "I  've  got  an  awful  lot  to  say  to  you — 
d'you  mind  drawing  your  chair  nearer?  I 
meant  to  say  it  at  Amberley.  I  'd  have  liked 
it  better  there.  I  rather  hate  this  kind  of  dis- 
infected, sloppy  place  for  talk.  You  must 
loathe  it,  too.  But  here  or  there  it 's  got  to  be 
said.  You  said  something  or  other  when  I 
first  put  it  to  you — about  our  engagement 
never  being  broken.  It  was  awfully  good  of 
you,  of  course.  I  couldn't  see  through  it  at 
the  time.  I  wanted  to  let  things  slide.  But 
it 's  all  nonsense  my  dear  girl.  Women  like 
you  can't  marry  logs  of  wood." 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously.  Her  eyes  were 
shut  to  expression.  She  sat  there,  just  as 
lovely,  just  as  sphinx-like  as  some  old  smiling 
portrait.  There  was  the  same  unfluctuating, 


140        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

delicate  color  in  her  face,  and  the  same  un- 
harassed,  straightforward  glancing  of  the  eyes. 
She  was  not  the  least  perturbed  by  what  he 
said;  she  expected  him  to  say  it. 

"We  should  be  foolish,"  she  answered 
quietly,  "to  try  to  ignore  the  terrible  difference 
in  our  lives,  Julian,  and  I  was  sure  you  would 
want  to  set  me  free;  but  you  cannot  do  it.  I 
took  the  risk  of  your  accident,  unwillingly  at 
first;  but,  still,  eventually  I  accepted  it,  and 
I  will  not  be  set  free." 

His  eyes  held  hers  compellingly,  as  if  he 
were  searching  for  some  inner  truth  behind 
her  words,  and  then  slowly  reluctant  tears 
gathered  across  the  keenness  of  his  vision.  He 
leaned  his  head  back  on  his  pillow  and  looked 
away. 

"I  don't  think,"  he  said  slowly,  "you  're  glad 
to  have  me  back.  I  don't  want  to  marry  you, 
I  could  n't  marry  you ;  but  I  wish  to  Heaven 
you  'd  been  glad !  O  Marian,  I  'm  a  coward 
and  a  fool,  but  if  you  'd  been  glad,  I  'd  have 
gone  down  under  it!  I  'd  have  married  you 
then.  I  ought  n't  to  say  this.  It 's  all  non- 
sense, and  you  're  quite  right.  It 's  awfully 
fine  of  you  to  want  to  keep  your  word;  but, 


! 


"Women  like  you  can't  marry  logs  of  wood" 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

you  see,  I  did  n't  want  your  word.  It 's  your 
heart  I  wanted.  I  used  to  say  out  there  some- 
times, when  things  were  a  bit  thick,  'Never 
mind.  If  I  get  through,  she  '11  be  glad.'  " 

Marian  drew  herself  up.  This  did  not  seem 
to  her  fair  of  Julian.  She  had  prayed  very 
earnestly  to  God  for  his  safe  return.  Neither 
God  nor  he  had  been  quite  fair  about  it.  This 
was  not  a  safe  return. 

"I  don't  know  what  more  I  can  do,  Julian," 
she  said  steadily,  "than  offer  to  share  my  life 
with  you." 

"That 's  just  it,"  said  Julian,  with  that  curi- 
ous look  in  his  eyes  which  kept  fighting  her, 
and  yet  appealing  to  her  simultaneously. 
"You  can't  do  more.  If  you  could,  I  'm  such 
a  weak  hound,  I  'd  lie  here  and  take  it.  If 
you  wanted  me,  Marian, — wanted  a  broken 
fragment  of  a  man  fit  for  a  dust-pan, — I  'd 
land  you  with  it.  But,  'pon  my  word,  it 's  too 
steep  when  you  don't  want  it.  Out 'of  some 
curious  sense  of  duty  toward  the  dust-pan 
— I  'm  afraid  I  'm  being  uncivil  to  the  uni- 
verse, but  I  feel  a  little  uncivil  to  it  just  now. 
No ;  you  've  got  to  go.  I  'm  sorry.  Don't 
touch  me.  Just  let  me  be;  but  if  you  could 


144         THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

say  just  where  you  are  before  you  go!  But 
it  does  n't  matter.  I  should  n't  believe  it.  I 
would  n't  believe  the  mother  that  bore  me  now. 
I  Ve  seen  the  end  of  love." 

The  tears  burned  themselves  away  from  his 
eyes ;  they  gazed  at  her  as  sunken  and  blue  as 
the  sea  whipped  by  an  east  wind.  She  turned 
slowly  toward  the  door. 

"I  want  you  to  remember,  Julian,"  she  said, 
"that  I  meant  what  I  said.  I  mean  it  still. 
I  wish  to  carry  out  our  engagement." 

Julian  said  something  in  reply  that  Marian 
didn't  understand.  He  was  repeating  out 
loud  and  very  slowly  the  cipher  he  had  sent  to 
the  Government. 

After  all,  it  had  been  easier  to  send  the  ci- 
pher to  the  Government  than  to  release  Ma- 
rian. His  mind  had  sprung  back  to  the  easier 
task. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IT  was  not  often  that  Stella  took  anything 
for  herself,  least  of  all  Saturday  after- 
noons. They  belonged  by  a  kind  of  sacred 
right  to  Eurydice,  and  what  was  left  over  from 
Eurydice  was  used  on  the  weekly  accounts. 
Mrs.  Waring  found  it  easier  to  explain  to 
Stella  than  to  any  one  else  why  one  and  six- 
pence that  was  really  due  to  the  butcher  should 
have  been  expended  upon  "The  Will  of  God," 
bound  in  white  and  gold  for  eighteenpence,  an 
indisputable  spiritual  bargain,  but  a  poor 
equivalent  to  the  butcher. 

But  this  Saturday  afternoon  Stella  hard- 
ened her  heart  against  Eurydice  and  turned 
her  mind  away  from  the  vista  of  the  weekly 
bills.  She  wanted  to  think  about  Julian. 

Marian  had  left  London  the  day  after  her 
interview  with  him.  She  belonged  to  that 
class  of  people  which  invariably  follows  a  dis- 
agreeable event  by  a  change  of  address;  but 

145 


146         THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

she  had  found  time  before  she  went  to  write  to 
Stella.  There  was  something  she  wanted 
Stella  to  send  on  after  her  from  the  Army  and 
Navy  stores.  She  was  really  too  upset  and 
rushed  to  go  there  herself.  Julian  had  been 
so  extraordinary;  he  apparently  expected  her 
to  be  fonder  of  him  now  than  when  he  was  all 
right.  She  had  really  made  tremendous  sac- 
rifices going  to  that  horrid  nursing  home  every 
day  for  a  month.  Both  her  parents  were  de- 
lighted that  the  engagement  was  at  an  end, 
and  of  course  it  was  a  relief  in  some  ways, 
though  horribly  sad  and  upsetting,  especially 
as  Julian  behaved  as  if  she  were  to  blame. 
Marian  was  afraid  he  was  n't  as  chivalrous  as 
she  had  always  thought.  She  had  idealized 
him.  One  does  when  one  is  in  love  with  peo- 
ple ;  but  it  does  n't  last.  One  wakes  up  and 
finds  everything  different. 

Stella  wanted  to  forget  Marian's  letter.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  cursory  and  callous  as  a  news- 
paper account  of  a  storm  in  China.  It  was 
all  so  far  off,  and  drowned  Chinamen  are  so 
much  alike;  and  yet  she  had  written  to  tell 
Stella  about  Julian  and  the  end  of  love. 
"Many  waters  cannot  quench  love" ;  it  had  not 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        147 

taken  many  waters  to  quench  Marian's.  It 
occurred  to  Stella  for  the  first  time  that  the 
quality  of  love  depends  solely  upon  the  heart 
that  holds  it;  not  even  divine  fire  can  burn  on 
an  untended  hearth. 

It  was  a  mild  December  day;  winter  had 
given  itself  a  few  soft  hours  in  which  to  brood 
upon  the  spring.  London,  the  last  of  places  to 
feel  the  touch  of  nature  and  the  first  to  profit 
by  it,  had  passed  into  a  golden  mist. 

Stella  left  the  town  hall  at  two  o'clock,  and 
walked  down  the  busy  highway.  All  the  lit- 
tle, lively  shops  were  awake  and  doing  their 
noisy  business  of  the  week,  while  farther  west 
all  the  big,  quiet  shops,  with  other  habits, 
closed  on  the  heels  of  their  departing  customers. 
Stella  slipped  away  from  the  eager  friendly 
crowd,  glued  together  in  indissoluble  groups 
upon  the  pavement.  She  wanted  to  be  alone 
and  not  to  have  to  keep  reminding  herself  not 
to  think  of  Julian  until  she  had  finished  what 
she  had  to  do. 

She  turned  down  a  narrow  lane  with  high 
brick  walls.  Silence  and  solitude  were  at  the 
turn  of  a  corner.  London  fell  away  from  her 
like  a  jangling  dream. 


148        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

She  passed  an  iron-scrolled  gateway  which 
led  into  an  old  garden.  The  low-browed 
house,  with  its  overhanging  eaves,  was  once  the 
home  of  a  famous  poet.  Poetry  clung  about 
it  still;  it  was  in  the  air,  and  met  her  like  the 
touch  of  a  friend's  hand.  A  little  farther 
along  the  lane  she  came  to  an  opening  in  the 
wall,  and  saw  before  her  a  small,  surrounded 
field  of  grass.  It  was  a  Quaker  burial- 
ground.  This  unique  and  quiet  people,  in 
their  enmity  with  form,  had  chosen  of  all  forms 
the  most  resilient.  They  had  made  in  the 
heart  of  London  a  picture,  and  a  place  of 
peace  for  death. 

There  was  no  sense  of  desolation  in  the  si- 
lent field;  only  the  sunshine,  the  old  walls,  and 
the  green  emptiness.  It  might  have  been  the 
grass-grown  citadel  of  Tusculum  spread  out 
at  Stella's  feet,  it  was  a  spot  so  acquainted 
with  the  air,  with  solitude,  and  with  a  nameless 
history. 

Beyond  it  lay  a  maze  of  old  and  narrow 
streets,  with  quaint,  lop-sided  houses,  uneven 
roofs,  and  winding  causeways. 

At  the  end  of  one  of  these  she  came  sud- 
denly upon  a  waste  of  waters  the  color  of  a 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         149 

moonstone.  Stella  had  never  been  abroad; 
but  she  felt  as  if  a  wall  between  her  mind  and 
space  had  broken  down  and  shown  her  Venice. 
Drifting  slowly  down  the  broad  stream  were 
two  white  swans,  and  across  the  river  a  green 
bank  stood  beneath  a  row  of  shining  towers. 

They  were  a  row  of  factory  chimneys;  but 
rising  out  of  the  mist,  above  the  moonstone 
flood,  they  looked  like  ancient  towers.  Stella 
sat  upon  a  wooden  float ;  it  made  a  luxurious 
seat  for  her  opposite  the  drifting  swans.  She 
felt  as  if  all  her  thoughts  at  last  were  free. 
There  was  no  one  in  sight;  old  and  dignified 
houses  leaned  toward  the  water-front :  but  for 
all  the  life  that  inhabited  them,  they  might 
have  been  the  ghosts  of  houses.  Nothing 
stirred,  but  sometimes  up  the  river  a  seagull, 
on  level  wings,  with  wary  eyes,  wandered  above 
the  watery  highway,  challenging  the  unaccus- 
tomed small  spaces  of  the  sky. 

Stella  wished  for  the  first  time  that  Julian 
were  dead.  She  did  not  believe  in  a  capricious 
or  an  impatient  God,  moved  by  well-timed  pe- 
titions ;  but  all  her  being  absorbed  itself  into  an 
unconscious  prayer  for  Julian's  peace. 

She  could  not  have  told  how  long  she  had 


150        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

been  there  when  she  heard  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps, strangely  familiar  footsteps,  direct, 
regular,  and  swift.  She  looked  up,  to  meet 
the  grave,  intent  gaze  of  Mr.  Leslie  Travers. 

Stella  rubbed  her  eyes  as  if  she  had  been 
asleep.  Surely  in  a  place  of  whispering  si- 
lences, town  clerks  did  not  burst  upon  you  ex- 
cept in  dreams? 

Of  course  Mr.  Travers  might  live  in  one  of 
these  old,  quiet  houses,  though  it  did  not  seem 
very  likely  to  Stella.  She  thought  he  must 
live  in  some  place  where  the  houses  looked  as 
if  they  knew  more  what  they  were  about,  and 
did  not  brood  over  a  deserted  waterway 

Seeing  all  their  own  mischance 
With  a  glassy  countenance, 

like  that  immortal  gazer,  the  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Mr.  Travers  did  not  pass  Stella  with  his 
usual  air  of  cutting  through  space  like  a  knife. 
He  crossed  the  float  gingerly,  and  asked 
firmly,  but  with  kindness,  if  he  might  sit  down. 

Stella  gave  a  helpless  gesture  of  assent. 
She  could  not  stop  him,  but  he  was  inappropri- 
ate. The  row  of  factory  chimneys  ceased  to 
disguise  themselves  as  towers ;  the  float  looked 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        151 

as  if  it  knew  suddenly  how  unsuitable  it  was 
for  a  winter  afternoon's  repose.  The  swans, 
approaching  fatally  near  for  the  ideal,  were 
very  nearly  black. 

"Do  you  not  find  it  damp  here?"  asked  Mr. 
Travers. 

Stella  said: 

"Yes,  very";  and  then,  meeting  his  sur- 
prised eyes,  she  hastily  corrected  herself.  "No, 
not  at  all."  Then  gave  a  little,  helpless 
laugh.  "Forgive  me!"  she  said.  "You  sur- 
prised me  so.  Has  anything  gone  wrong  at 
the  town  hall?" 

Mr.  Travers  did  not  immediately  answer 
her  question.  He  had  never  sat  on  a  float  be- 
fore. Still,  it  was  not  this  fact  which  silenced 
him.  He  had  not  been  sure  when  he  ap- 
proached if  Stella  was  crying  or  not.  There 
was  still  something  that  looked  suspiciously 
like  the  pathway  of  a  tear  upon  the  cheek  next 
him,  and  though  she  was  laughing  now,  it  had 
not  the  sound  of  her  usual  laughter;  it  stirred 
in  him  a  sense  of  tears. 

"I  think  I  shall  confess  at  once,"  he  said 
finally,  "that  I  followed  you.  I  wanted  to 
talk  to  you  without  interruption.  I  might 


152        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

have  called  upon  you  at  your  home,  of  course, 
but  I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing your  family,  and  in  this  instance  my  busi- 
ness was  with  you." 

Stella  gave  a  faint  sigh  of  relief.  She  was 
glad  it  was  business.  She  was  used  to  busi- 
ness with  Mr.  Travers.  She  was  not  used  to 
pleasure  with  him,  and  she  was  not  in  the 
mood  for  new  experiences. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  talk  over  anything  with 
you  about  which  I  can  be  of  use,"  she  said 
gently,  "and  I  think  this  is  a  beautiful  place 
to  do  it  in." 

"The  rents,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  glancing 
critically  at  the  silent  houses,  "must  be  very 
low,  necessarily  low.  I  hope  you  do  not  often 
come  here,"  he  added  after  a  pause.  "It  is 
the  kind  of  place  in  which  I  should  strongly 
suspect  drains.  We  might  mention  it  to  the 
sanitary  inspector  and  ask  him  for  a  report 
upon  it." 

"Oh,  must  we?"  murmured  Stella. 

"Not  if  you  would  rather  not,"  said  Mr. 
Travers,  unexpectedly.  "In  that  case  I 
would  waive  the  question." 

Stella  glanced  at  him  in  alarm.    Was  Mr. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         153 

Travers  going  mad  from  overstrain  at  the 
town  hall?  He  must  be  very  nearly  mad  to 
come  and  sit  upon  a  float  with  his  secretary  on 
Saturday  afternoon,  and  waive  a  question  of 
drains. 

"But  that  wouldn't  be  business,"  she  said 
gravely. 

"Yes,  it  would,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  relent- 
lessly. "It  is  my  immediate  business  to  please 
you." 

Stella's  alarm  deepened ;  but  it  became  solely 
for  Mr.  Travers.  She  did  not  mind  if  he  was 
sane  or  not  if  only  he  refrained  from  saying 
anything  that  he  would  ultimately  regret. 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  realize,  Miss 
Waring,"  Mr.  Travers  continued,  "that  I  am 
a  very  lonely  man.  I  have  no  contemporary 
relatives.  My  father  died  when  I  was  a  young 
child.  I  lost  my  mother  two  years  ago.  My 
work  has  not  entailed  many  friendships.  I  be- 
gan office  work  very  young,  and  it  has  to  a 
great  extent  absorbed  me.  I  think  I  should 
be  afraid  to  say  it  to  any  one  but  you, — it 
would  sound  laughable, — but  my  chief  attach- 
ment of  late  years  has  been  to  a  cat." 

It  was  curious  that,  though  Mr.  Travers 


154        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

had  often  been  nervous  of  his  secretary's  hu- 
mor, he  understood  that  she  would  not  laugh 
at  him  about  his  cat. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "I  hope  it  loves  you  as  well. 
They  won't  sometimes,  I  know;  you  can  pour 
devotion  out  on  them,  and  they  won't  turn  a 
hair.  But  when  they  do,  it 's  so  wonderfully 
reassuring.  Dogs  will  love  almost  any  one, 
but  cats  discriminate.  I  do  hope  your  cat  dis- 
criminates toward  you,  Mr.  Travers?" 

"I  think  it  was  attached  to  me  in  its  way," 
said  Mr.  Travers,  clearing  his  throat.  "It  was 
an  old  cat,  and  now  it  is  dead.  I  merely  men- 
tion it  in  passing." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Stella,  quickly.  "But  I  'm 
so  sorry !  I  hate  to  think  you  had  to  lose  what 
you  loved." 

"You  would,"  said  Mr.  Travers.  "But  the 
point  I  wish  to  make  to  you  is  that  a  man 
whose  sole  dependence  is  upon  the  attachment 
of  a  cat  does  not  know  much  about  human 
relationships.  I  fear  I  am  exceedingly  igno- 
rant upon  this  subject.  Until  lately  this  had 
not  particularly  disturbed  me.  Now  I  should 
wish  to  have  given  it  more  consideration." 

"But  I  think  you  have,"  said  Stella,  eagerly; 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         155 

"I  mean  I  think  you  've  changed  lately  about 
relationships.  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  'm  quite 
sure  you  have.  I  have  always  enjoyed  my 
work  with  you,  and  you  have  never  been  in- 
considerate to  me.  But  I  used  to  think  people 
were  n't  very  real  to  you,  as  if  you  wanted  to 
hurry  through  them  and  stick  them  on  a  neat, 
tight  file,  like  the  letters,  according  to  their 
alphabetical  order.  But  now  I  know  you  're 
not  like  that.  Even  if  you  hadn't  told  me 
about  the  cat  I  should  have  known  it." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Travers.  "Thank 
you  very  much." 

For  a  while  he  said  nothing  at  all,  and  Stella 
wondered  if  that  was  all  he  wanted.  She 
hoped  it  was  all  he  wanted.  Then  he  turned 
and  looked  down  at  her. 

"I  have  formed  an  attachment  now,  Miss 
Waring,"  he  said,  "and  I  am  in  a  suitable  posi- 
tion to  carry  it  out.  You  have  been  the  best 
secretary  a  man  ever  had.  Could  you  under- 
take to  become  my  wife  ?" 

Stella  bowed  her  head.  She  had  come  here 
to  think  about  Julian,  but  she  had  not  been 
able  to  think  about  him  for  very  long.  She  did 
not  think  about  him  at  all  now.  She  thought 


156        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

only  about  Mr.  Travers.  She  was  so  sorry 
for  him  that  she  could  not  look  at  him.  What 
compensation  was  there  for  what  she  had  not 
got  to  give  him,  and  in  what  mad  directions 
does  not  pity  sometimes  drive?  For  a  mo- 
ment she  felt  as  if  she  could  not  say  "No"  to 
him;  but  to  say  "Yes"  would  make  nothing 
any  easier,  for  after  she  had  said  "Yes"  she 
would  have  nothing  more  to  give. 

There  is  seldom  any  disastrous  situation  in 
which  there  is  not  something  that  can  be  saved. 
Stella  saw  in  a  flash  what  she  might  still  save 
out  of  it.  She  could  save  Mr.  Travers's  pride 
at  the  cost  of  hers.  She  wras  a  very  proud 
and  a  very  reticent  woman ;  she  would  take  the 
deepest  thing  in  her  heart  and  show  it  to  Mr. 
Travers  that  he  might  not  feel  ashamed  at  hav- 
ing shown  her  his  own. 

"I  can't,"  she  said  quickly,  slipping  her 
small,  firm  hand  over  his;  "not  because  it  is  n't 
beautiful  of  you.  It  is,  of  course ;  it 's  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  things  I  've  ever  known, 
because  you  know  nothing  about  me,  and  I  'm 
so  glad  I  'm  not  what  you  would  really  like  if 
you  did  know  me.  Remember  that  after- 
ward." 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        157 

"Excuse  me,"  interrupted  Mr.  Travers, 
dryly;  "I  am  the  best  judge  of  what  I  like." 

"I  wonder  if  you  really  are,"  said  Stella, 
with  a  little  gasp,  as  if  she  had  been  running. 
"I  wonder  if  I  really  am  myself.  But  we  both 
think  we  are,  don't  we?  We  can't  help  that 
— and  the  very  same  thing  has  happened  to  us 
both :  we  Ve  seen  and  wanted  a  little — some- 
thing that  would  n't  do — that  would  n't  do  at 
all  for  either  of  us  ever.  If  you  had  to  like 
somebody  that  would  n't  do,  I  think  I  'm 
glad  you  came  to  me,  because,  you  see,  I  know 
what  it  feels  like.  I  can  be  sorry  and  proud 
and  glad  you  Ve  given  it  to  me,  and  then  we 
need  never  talk  about  it  any  more." 

Mr.  Travers  looked  straight  in  front  of  him. 
Stella  had  not  withdrawn  her  hand;  but  Mr. 
Travers  pressed  it,  and  laid  it  down  reveren- 
tially between  them.  He  would  never  forget 
that  he  had  held  it,  but  to  continue  to  hold 
it  until  she  had  accepted  him  would  have 
seemed  to  Mr.  Travers  a  false  position. 

"There  is  another  point  to  which  I  should 
like  to  draw  your  attention,"  he  said  after  a 
slight  pause.  "Marriage  does  not  necessarily 
imply  any  feeling  of  an  intense  nature  by  both 


158        ,THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

parties.  I  wish  to  offer  you  security  and  com- 
panionship. As  I  told  you  before,  I  am  a 
lonely  man;  I  could  be  content  with  very  lit- 
tle. I  have  noticed  that  when  you  come  into  a 
room  it  makes  a  difference  to  me." 

"Don't  make  me  cry!"  said  Stella,  suddenly, 
and  then  she  did  cry  a  little,  a  nervous  flurry 
of  tears  that  shook  her  for  a  brief  moment  and 
left  her  laughing  at  the  consternation  in  his 
face. 

"You  see  how  silly  I  am!"  she  said.  "But 
however  silly,  I  'm  not  a  cheat.  You  offer 
me  everything.  I  couldn't  take  it  and  not 
offer  you  everything  back.  To  me  marriage 
means  everything.  It  is  n't  only — is  it  ? — a 
perpetual  companionship,  though  when  you 
think  of  it,  that 's  tremendous, — almost  all  the 
other  companionships  of  life  are  intermittent, 
but  it 's  the  building  up  of  fresh  life  out  of  a 
single  love." 

Mr.  Travers  looked  away.  He  was  sur- 
prised that  Stella  had  not  shocked  him.  The 
idea  of  any  woman  mentioning  the  existence 
of  a  child  until  she  had  a  child  might  have 
shocked  him;  but  Stella  failed  to  move  his 
sense  of  propriety.  It  even  struck  him  that 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         159 

marriage  would  be  less  inclined  to  lapse  into 
the  sordid  and  irregular  struggles  of  his  ex- 
perience if  it  was  based  upon  so  plain  a  foun- 
dation. He  looked  away  because  he  felt  that 
now  he  could  not  change  her. 

Stella  wished  that  they  were  in  a  house.  It 
struck  her  that  a  room  would  give  more  of  the 
advantages  of  a  retreat  to  Mr.  Travers.  She 
was  very  anxious  to  make  his  retreat  easy  for 
him. 

"Would  you  do  me  a  tremendous  service?" 
she  asked  gently. 

He  turned  quickly  to  face  her. 

"That  is  what  I  should  like  to  do  you,"  he 
said.  But  he  looked  at  her  a  little  suspi- 
ciously, for  he  was  not  sure  that  the  service 
Stella  asked  would  n't,  after  all,  be  only  some 
new  way  of  helping  him. 

"You  said  the  other  day,"  she  said,  meeting 
his  eyes  with  unswerving  candor,  "that  I  might 
have  extra  help  if  I  wanted  it.  I  do  want 
very  much  to  find  some  work  for  my  sister, 
Eurydice.  She  is  very  clever;  cleverer  than  I 
am  a  great  deal,  only  in  a  different  way.  She 
used  to  write  books,  but  that  did  not  pay  her 
very  well,  and  when  the  war  came,  she  went 


160        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

into  the  city  and  worked  for  a  secretarial  di- 
ploma. I  think  she  would  be  of  use  to  you,  if 
you  would  go  slowly  with  her  and  make  allow- 
ances for  her  different  ways  of  being  clever. 
Would  you  like  to  help  her?" 

Mr.  Travers  hesitated.  Then  he  stood  up 
and  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"The  sun  has  begun  to  go,"  he  said;  "I  as- 
sure you  it  is  not  healthy  for  you  to  linger  here. 
Of  course  I  will  engage  your  sister." 

Stella  gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief.  She  had 
found  a  way  out  for  Mr.  Travers. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AFTER  the  arrival  of  Eurydice,  Mr. 
Travers  saw  very  little  of  Stella.  At 
certain  moments  of  the  day  she  came  and 
asked  him  for  orders,  but  in  some  mysterious 
manner  she  seemed  to  have  withdrawn  her- 
self from  personal  contact.  She  had  been  im- 
personal before,  but  only  in  a  businesslike  and 
friendly  way.  She  was  impersonal  now  as  if 
she  was  not  there. 

She  could  control  her  attention,  but  she  no 
longer  felt  any  vitality  behind  it.  She  knew 
where  her  life  had  gone,  and  she  was  powerless 
to  call  it  back  to  her.  It  hovered  restlessly 
about  the  spirit  of  Julian.  Stella  had  never 
known  what  it  was  to  repine  at  her  own  fate. 
If  there  were  many  things  she  wanted  that  she 
could  not  have,  she  had  consoled  herself  with 
driving  her  desires  into  what  was  left  to  her. 
But  she  could  not  do  this  for  Julian. 

He  had  had  so  much  farther  to  fall.     She 

161 


162         THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

saw  his  face  as  she  had  seen  it  first,  with  its 
look  of  human  strength;  his  frosty,  blue  eyes, 
his  heavy  sledge-hammer  chin,  and  all  the 
alertness,  the  controlled  activity,  of  his  young 
figure.  She  saw  him  again  like  something 
made  of  wax,  emaciated  and  helpless,  with 
flickering  eyes.  He  had  not  believed  in 
knocking  under,  and  he  had  felt  defeat  in- 
credible. 

But  defeat  had  met  him,  a  blundering  defeat 
that  wrecked  his  body  and  left  his  unprotected 
heart  to  face  disaster. 

Would  he  have  courage  enough  for  this  re- 
stricted battle  against  adversity?  Courage 
did  strange  things  with  pain.  It  transformed 
and  utilized  it;  but  courage  does  not  spring 
readily  from  a  mortally  wounded  pride.  Ma- 
rian, with  a  complete  lack  of  intention,  had 
robbed  Julian  of  his  first  weapon.  She  had 
dissipated  his  resources  by  undermining  his 
confidence,  and  left  him  perilously  near  to  the 
stultification  of  personal  bitterness. 

Would  it  be  possible  for  Julian  to  escape 
resentment?  Or  would  he  pass  down  that 
long  lane  which  has  no  turning,  and  ends  in 
the  bottomless  bog  of  self-pity,  in  which  the 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         163 

finest  qualities  of  the  human  spirit  sink  like  a 
stone  ? 

Step  by  step  Stella  passed  with  him,  by  all 
the  hidden  and  vivid  obstacles  between  his  soul 
and  victory,  between  it  and  defeat. 

She  could  do  nothing,  but  she  could  not  stop 
her  ceaseless  watchfulness.  She  was  like  some 
one  who  strains  his  eyes  forever  down  an  empty 
road.  The  days  began  to  lengthen  into  a  long 
cold  spring.  There  were  no  outward  changes 
in  her  life :  the  draf ty  town  hall,  the  long  bus- 
rides,  the  bad  news  from  France,  and  at  home 
the  pinch  and  ugliness  of  poverty.  She  had 
stopped  being  afraid  that  people  would  notice 
a  difference  in  her.  Nobody  noticed  any  dif- 
ference. She  behaved  in  the  same  way  and 
did  the  same  things.  She  had  gone  down  un- 
der the  waters  of  life  without  so  much  as  a 
splash. 

"I  suppose,"  Stella  said  to  herself,  "lots  of 
us  see  ghosts  every  day  without  knowing  it." 
She  had  a  vague  feeling  that  Mr.  Travers 
knew  it,  but  that  he  kept  it  in  the  back  of  his 
mind  like  an  important  paper  in  a  case,  which 
it  was  no  use  producing  unless  you  could  act 
upon  it. 


164        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

It  was  an  awful  day  of  snow  and  wind. 
Everybody  but  Stella  and  the  porter  had  gone 
home.  She  had  been  stupid  over  the  munici- 
pal accounts ;  over  and  over  again  her  flagging 
mind  stuck  at  the  same  mistake.  At  last  she 
finished.  She  was  still  sixpence  out;  but  she 
might  see  the  sixpence  in  a  flash  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  there  would  be  no  flash  in  anything 
she  could  see  to-night. 

When  she  reached  the  door  she  found  the 
gale  had  become  formidable  and  chaotic.  She 
staggered  out  of  the  town  hall  into  the  grip 
of  a  fury.  All  London  shook  and  quivered; 
trees  were  torn  down  and  flung  across  the  road 
like  broken  twigs ;  taxis  were  blown  into  lamp- 
posts ;  the  icy  air  tore  and  raged  and  screamed 
as  if  the  elements  had  set  out  to  match  and 
overwhelm  the  puny  internecine  struggles  of 
man.  "This,"  Stella  thought  to  herself,  "is 
like  a  battle — noise,  confusion,  senselessness. 
I  must  hold  on  to  whatever  keeps  stillest,  and 
get  home  in  rushes." 

But  nothing  kept  very  still.  She  was  doubt- 
ful about  trembling  lamp-posts,  and  area-rail- 
ings twitched  and  shook  under  her  hands. 
Her  skirts  whipped  themselves  about  her  like 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        165 

weeds  in  a  river,  trying  to  trip  her  up  or  hold 
her  down.  The  darkness  was  blown  across  the 
sky,  lifting  in  strange  pauses,  to  show  a  bat- 
tered moon  and  the  pale  silver  of  the  falling 
snow.  She  could  only  breathe,  with  her  head 
held  down,  in  strange  short  gasps  that  seemed 
compulsory  and  forced  upon  her  by  something 
outside.  Beaten  and  tremulous,  half  lost  and 
faint,  there  was  a  strange  sense  of  pleasure  in 
her:  she  was  pitting  her  brain  against  a  mon- 
ster. Little  by  little,  craftily  and  with  many 
pauses  and  precautions,  she  slipped  and  stum- 
bled down  the  long  highway  across  the  bridge 
and  up  the  narrower  street  which  led  toward 
Redcliff  Square.  Tiles  were  tossed  about  the 
road  like  fallen  leaves ;  from  time  to  time  there 
would  be  the  sharper  crash  of  a  broken  chim- 
ney. The  street  was  empty.  It  stretched 
through  the  night,  with  its  half-darkened  lamp- 
posts, like  the  long-shaken  strip  of  a  Futurist 
drawing.  It  was  a  victory  to  be  alive  in  it. 
Stella  could  not  believe  in  her  own  door-step ; 
it  seemed  like  some  wild  rescue  out  of  a  dream. 
She  tried  to  laugh  as  she  began  to  tell  her 
adventures  to  her  assembled  family;  but  when 
she  laughed,  a  pain  so  cruel  cut  across  her 


166        JHE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

breath  that  she  collapsed  helplessly  into  an 
arm-chair.  She  could  not  explain  anything 
after  that.  The  household  wavered  and  shook 
about  her.  Professor  Waring  gazed  solemnly 
at  her. 

If  she  had  been  a  mummy  he  would  have 
known  exactly  what  to  do.  As  it  was,  he 
touched  her  wet  clothes  and  murmured, 
"Surely  there  must  be  some  suitable  cere- 
ments?" 

Eurydice  spun  him  aside,  and  in  a  fury  of 
panic  and  anger  began  giving  contradictory 
orders  to  the  household. 

"This,"  said  the  professor,  wandering  to- 
ward his  wife,  "seems  to  me  almost  the  mo- 
ment to  accept  the  presence  of  Cicely." 

"Yes,  yes,"  agreed  Mrs.  Waring.  "I  for- 
get what  comes  when  you  can't  focus  the  in- 
visible. I  think  Stella  ought  to  rally  her  life 
forces,  but  I  hardly  like  to  bother  her  about 
them  just  now.  Perhaps  brandy  would  be 
better ;  but  I  can't  quite  remember  if  we  have 
any.  There  was  a  flask  of  something  in  the 
biscuit-tin,  but  it  may  be  empty  now.  If  we 
all  believed  that  health  was  holiness — " 

"If  you  want  Cicely,"  said  Eurydice,  in 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         167 

whom  panic  was  overcoming  fury,  "why  not 
send  for  her?  Lizzie,  here  are  two  shillings; 
go  out  and  see  if  you  can  find  a  taxi." 

Stella  tried  to  say  what  might  happen  to 
Lizzie  in  the  search  for  a  taxi,  but  the  effort 
to  speak  finished  her  strength.  When  she 
could  realize  what  was  happening  again,  Cicely 
had  arrived.  She  pounced  upon  the  emer- 
gency as  a  cat  upon  a  mouse. 

In  a  few  minutes  Stella  was  tucked  up  warm 
and  dry,  poulticed  and  eased,  capable  of  a 
little  very  short  breath,  propped  up  by  pil- 
lows. The  professor  had  retired  to  his  study 
with  a  cup  of  cocoa  hotter  than  he  had  known 
this  cheering  vegetable  to  be  since  Cicely's  de- 
parture. 

Mrs.  Waring  was  breathing  very  slowly  in 
her  bedroom  to  restore  calm  to  the  household, 
and  Eurydice  was  crying  bitterly  into  the 
kitchen  sink.  She  was  quite  sure  that  Stella 
was  going  to  die,  and  that  Cicely  would  save 
her. 

The  second  of  these  two  calamities  took 
place.  Stella  was  very  ill  with  pleurisy,  and 
remained  very  ill  for  several  days.  Cicely  in- 
terfered with  death  as  drastically  as  she  inter- 


168        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

fered  with  everything  else.  She  dragged 
Stella  reluctantly  back  into  a  shaky  convales- 
cence. 

"Now  you  're  going  to  get  well,"  she  an- 
nounced to  her  in  a  tone  of  abrupt  reproach. 
"But  what  I  don't  understand  is  the  appalling 
state  of  weakness  you  're  in.  You  must  have 
been  living  under  some  kind  of  strain.  I  don't 
mean  work.  Work  alone  would  n't  have  made 
such  a  hash  of  you.  Come,  you  may  as  well 
own  up.  What  was  it?" 

Stella  blinked  her  eyes,  and  looked  round 
her  like  a  dazzled  stranger.  Usually  she  was 
very  fond  of  her  room, — it  was  a  small  back 
room,  over  a  yard  full  of  London  cats, — but  it 
struck  her  now  that  there  were  too  many  things 
with  which  she  was  familiar.  It  was  the  same 
with  Cicely.  She  dearly  loved  and  valued 
Cicely,  but  she  knew  the  sight  and  sound  of  her 
extraordinarily  well. 

"Nothing,"  said  Stella,  deprecatingly. 
"It 's  no  use  applying  gimlets  and  tweezers  to 
my  moral  sense,  Cicely.  Not  even  the  Inquisi- 
tion could  deal  with  a  hole.  Heretics  were 
solid.  I  have  a  perfect  right  to  be  ill  from 
a  cold  wind.  The  world  seemed  made  of  it 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        169 

that  night,  and  I  swallowed  half  the  world. 
It  must  be  rather  a  strain  for  a  thin  person  to 
swallow  half  the  world  on  an  empty  stomach. 
I  'm  quite  all  right  now,  thanks  to  you.  I  was 
thinking  I  ought  to  get  back  to  the  town  hall 
next  week.  Only,  queerly  enough,  I  had  an- 
other offer  of  work.  Still,  it 's  so  sketchy,  that 
I  could  n't  honestly  fling  up  my  own  job  for 
it,  though  it  sounds  rather  attractive." 

"Let 's  see  it,"  said  Cicely,  succinctly. 
"You  do  conceal  things,  Stella." 

Stella  withdrew  an  envelop  from  under  her 
pillow.  She  looked  a  little  anxious  after  its 
surrender.  Cicely  always  made  her  a  little 
anxious  over  a  tentative  idea.  She  had  a  way 
of  materializing  a  stray  thought,  and  flinging 
it  back  upon  Stella  as  an  incontrovertible  fact. 
Stella  was  very  anxious  not  to  think  that 
what  was  in  the  letter  she  gave  to  Cicely  was 
really  a  fact.  It  was  like  some  strange  dream 
that  has  n't  any  right  to  come  true.  Cicely 
read: 

Dear  Miss  Waring:  You  will  think  this  a  most  ex- 
traordinary request  for  me  to  make,  and  in  many  ways 
it  is  too  unformulated  to  be  a  request.  You  will  have 
heard  from  Marian  that  six  months  ago  her  engagement 


170        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

with  my  son  came  to  an  end.  This  was  the  natural  and 
right  thing  to  happen,  but  it  has  left  him  in  his  invalid 
condition  very  much  without  resources. 

You  were,  I  remember  your  telling  me,  a  secretary  to 
Professor  Paulson.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  my  son 
might  have  his  mind  directed  to  some  scientific  work  if 
he  could  meet  any  one  who  would  interest  him  anew 
in  the  subject.  Probably  you  are  immersed  in  other 
work,  but  if  by  any  possible  chance  you  should  be  at 
liberty  and  cared  to  make  the  experiment,  could  you  come 
here  for  a  few  weeks  ?  You  would  be  conferring  a  great 
favor  upon  us,  and  if  the  secretaryship  developed  out 
of  your  little  visit,  we  would  arrange  any  terms  that 
suited  you.  I  may  add  that  I  find  my  son  has  no  re- 
membrance of  your  association  with  Marian;  indeed,  he 
has  forgotten  the  occasion  of  your  meeting. 

He  has  been  so  very  ill  that  you  will  understand  and 
excuse  this,  I  feel  sure;  and  in  the  circumstances  I  think 
we  had  better  not  refer  to  it.  I  am  very  anxious  to 
divert  his  mind  from  the  past,  and  I  have  a  feeling  that 
if  I  could  count  upon  your  cooperation,  we  might  suc- 
ceed. Yours  sincerely, 

HELEN  VERNY. 

"I  don't  see  anything  sketchy  about  it,"  said 
Cicely,  slowly;  "in  the  circumstances,  I  mean. 
You  needn't  definitely  chuck  the  town  hall. 
You  '11  get  a  couple  of  weeks'  holiday. 
They  '11  give  you  a  fortnight's  extension  eas- 
ily, and  if  the  job  comes  your  way,  it  would  be 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        171 

a  suitable  one.  Anyway,  you  must  of  course 
accept  it  provisionally — " 

"I  don't  see  why  I  must  of  course  accept 
it,"  said  Stella.  "You  never  see  any  alterna- 
tives, Cicely.  Your  mind  is  like  one  of  those 
sign-posts  that  have  only  one  name  on  it,  with 
fields  all  round  and  heaps  of  other  places  to 
go  to.  It  must  be  awfully  confusing  to  be  as 
simple  as  you  are.  Why  could  n't  I  go  back 
to  the  town  hall  next  week?" 

"Well,  I  '11  tell  you  one  reason  why,"  said 
Cicely,  grimly.  "Simple  or  not,  your  heart 's 
as  weak  as  a  toy  watch;  you  very  nearly  died 
a  week  ago,  and  in  my  opinion  if  you  went 
back  to  the  town  hall,  you  'd  be  signing  your 
own  death-certificate." 

"I  could 'nt  do  that,"  said  Stella,  gravely; 
"it 's  not  legal.  I  'm  not  the  next  of  kin  to 
myself.  I  know  much  more  about  death-cer- 
tificates than  you  do.  If  I  go  to  Lady  Verny 
at  Amberley,  what 's  to  become  of  Eurydice?" 

"Eurydice  will  stay  where  she  is,"  said 
Cicely.  "If  you  ever  saw  to  the  end  of  your 
nose,  you  'd  know  that  she  is  as  glued  to  the 
town  hall  as  she  used  to  be  to  'Shocks,'  only 
this  time,  let  us  hope,  more  successfully. 


172        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Some  women  have  to  be  married.  They  con- 
tract a  fatal  desire  for  it,  like  the  influenza 
habit  every  winter.  Eurydice  is  one  of  them. 
It  takes  different  forms,  of  course.  This  time 
it 's  Mr.  Travers ;  the  Mr.  Bolt  attachment  was 
far  more  dangerous.  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
that  she  will  marry  Mr.  Travers,  if  it's  hu- 
manly speaking  possible." 

"Oh/'  said  Stella,  "will  she?  How  clever 
you  are,  Cicely!  You  know  nearly  every- 
thing. Why  do  you  say  'humanly  speaking 
possible?'  " 

"Because  you've  always  made  him  out  as 
cold  as  a  fish  and  as  hard  as  iron,"  said  Cicely. 
"He  may  be  one  of  the  few  men  who  won't 
yield  to  vanity  or  fancy." 

"I  see,"  said  Stella.  "It 's  not  very  nice  of 
you  to  want  Eurydice  to  marry  an  iron  fish. 
But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  'm  not  quite  so 
certain  about  Mr.  Travers.  The  iron  and  the 
fish  are  only  on  the  top.  I  think,  humanly 
speaking,  he  's  quite  possible.  I  'm  going  to 
sleep  now.  When  you  Ve  made  up  your  mind 
about  Amberley  you  can  wake  me  up." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

rTlHERE  are  two  winds  in  March;  one 
JL  comes  in  like  a  tight-lipped  school-master 
set  on  punishment.  It  is  frequently  accom- 
panied by  dust,  sunshine,  and  influenza.  It 
has  all  the  cold  of  winter,  and  acts  as  if  life 
could  be  produced  solely  by  formidable  harsh- 
ness. 

But  there  is  another  wind,  a  mild,  sensitive 
wind  which  carries  the  secrets  of  the  spring — 
a  wind  that  wanders  and  sings  on  sunless  days, 
penetrating  the  hard  crust  of  the  earth  as 
softly  and  as  inveterately  as  love,  a  wind  that 
opens  while  its  forceful  brother  shuts. 

It  was  this  wind,  calling  along  the  railway 
lines  against  the  swinging  train,  that  brought 
Stella  to  Amberley.  It  lifted  her  out  of  her 
carriage  to  the  small,  wayside  station,  embrac- 
ing her  with  its  welcome  under  shaking  trees. 
The  air  was  full  of  the  earth  scents  of  growing 
fields.  The  sky  was  wide  and  very  near  and 
without  strangeness. 

173 


174        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

A  porter,  lurching  out  of  the  surround- 
ing darkness,  told  Stella  there  was  a  car  from 
Aniberley  House  waiting  for  her.  It  could 
only  be  for  her,  because  no  one  else  was  on  the 
platform. 

The  station-master  himself  put  her  into  it. 
She  sank  into  soft  cushions,  and  shut  her  eyes 
to  feel  the  soundless  speed.  Stella  had  been 
on  rare  occasions  in  a  taxi;  but  this  creature 
that  leaped  without  friction  forward  into  the 
darkness,  flinging  a  long  road  behind  it  with 
the  ease  with  which  an  orange  is  peeled,  was 
a  wholly  new  experience.  When  she  opened 
her  eyes  again  they  became  gradually  accus- 
tomed to  the  frying  darkness,  which  was  not 
wholly  dark ;  trees  loomed  up  mysteriously  out 
of  it,  and  the  tender  shapes  of  little  hills  as 
soft  and  vague  as  clouds. 

Stella  was  sorry  when  the  car  stopped;  she 
could  not  see  the  doorway  of  Amberley  House, 
hidden  under  a  mass  of  ivy.  It  opened  sud- 
denly before  her  into  a  dusky  hall  lighted  by 
tall  candles  in  silver  candle-sticks. 

The  hall  was  full  of  shadows.  There  was 
a  fragrance  in  it  of  old  roses  and  lavender,  and 
it  was  quiet.  It  was  so  quiet  that  Stella  held 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        175 

her  breath.  She  felt  as  if  for  centuries  it  had 
been  still,  and  as  if  no  one  who  had  ever  lived 
there  had  made  a  noise  in  it.  She  was  afraid 
of  the  sound  of  her  own  voice. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  hall  there  was  a 
glow  of  firelight  on  old  oak  panels.  A  door 
opened,  and  Lady  Verny  came  toward  her, 
very  tall  and  stately,  but  with  the  same  kind, 
steady  eyes. 

Lady  Verny  came  all  the  way  across  the 
long,  shadowy  room  to  meet  Stella,  and  held 
out  both  her  hands;  but  when  she  came  near, 
Stella  saw  that  only  her  eyes  were  the  same. 
Her  face  was  incredibly  older.  The  firm  lines 
were  blurred,  the  delicate  color  was  gone. 
The  woman  who  looked  down  at  her  was  at 
the  mercy  of  the  years.  Grief  had  forced  her 
prematurely  out  of  her  comfortable  upward 
path.  Even  her  smile  had  changed ;  it  carried 
no  serenity. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  have  come,"  Lady 
Verny  said  gently.  "We  will  have  tea  in  my 
room,  I  think,  and  then  you  must  rest.  I  can 
see  you  have  been  ill." 

She  led  the  way  into  a  room  that  seemed 
curiously  like  her.  It  was  spacious  and  con- 


176        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

venient,  with  very  few  small  objects  in  it. 
Even  the  pictures  on  the  walls  had  the  same 
quality:  they  were  very  definite,  clear-colored 
French  landscapes,  graceful  and  reticent. 

The  china,  on  a  low  table  by  the  fire,  was 
old  and  valuable;  but  it  was  used  every  day. 
Lady  Verny  had  no  special  occasions,  and 
nothing  that  she  possessed  was  ever  too  price- 
less or  too  important  for  use. 

"I  hope  you  did  not  have  a  very  tiresome 
journey,"  she  continued.  "I  do  not  like  a 
change  on  so  short  a  run,  but  we  have  not  been 
able  to  arrange  to  have  a  train  straight  through 
from  town.  Julian  was  thinking  of  doing 
something  about  it  some  time  ago,  but  the  mat- 
ter has  dropped." 

Stella  noticed  that  as  Lady  Verny  spoke  of 
Julian  her  voice  hurried  a  little.  It  did  not 
shake;  but  it  passed  over  his  name  quickly  as 
if  she  were  afraid  that  it  might  shake. 

"Since  his  illness  he  has  taken  less  interest 
in  local  matters,"  she  finished  tranquilly. 

Stella  did  not  dare  to  ask  if  Julian  was  bet- 
ter. She  did  not  like  to  speak  about  his  in- 
terests ;  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  almost  anything 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         177 

would  be  better  than  to  say  something  stupid  to 
Lady  Verny  about  Julian. 

"It  was  a  lovely  journey,"  she  said  quickly, 
"and  I  would  have  hated  not  to  change  at 
Horsham.  I  was  so  sorry  it  was  nearly  dark. 
Shelley  lived  there  once,  did  n't  he?  I  wanted 
to  go  and  look  for  the  pond  where  he  had  sailed 
five-pound  notes  because  he  had  n't  anything 
else  to  make  boats  with.  Amberley  came 
much  too  soon ;  and  I  could  n't  see  anything 
but  a  bundle  of  dark  clouds.  I  could  only  feel 
it,  awfully  friendly  and  kind,  blowing  across 
the  fields!" 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Verny,  consideringly,  giv- 
ing Stella  her  tea;  "I  think  it  is  a  kind  little 
place.  There  is  nothing  dreadful  about  it,  not 
even  an  ugly  chapel,  or  one  of  those  quite  ter- 
rible little  artist's  houses, — you  know  the  type 
I  mean, — as  uncomfortable  as  a  three-cornered 
chair.  The  kind  that  clever  people  live  in  and 
call  cottages.  They  've  quite  spoiled  the  coun- 
try round  Pulborough ;  but  mercifully  the  sta- 
tion is  inconvenient  here,  and  a  good  deal  of 
the  land  is  Julian's.  I  hope  you  will  like  it," 
— she  met  Stella's  eyes  with  a  long,  question- 


178         THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

ing  look, — "because  I  hope  you  will  stay  here 
for  a  long  time." 

"As  long  as  you  want  me  to  stay,"  said 
Stella,  firmly. 

"We  must  not  spoil  your  other  opportuni- 
ties for  work,"  said  Lady  Verny;  "that  would 
be  most  unfair.  I  must  confess  to  you,  Miss 
Waring,  that  I  am  leaving  the  whole  question 
very  much  in  the  air.  It  would  be  more  sat- 
isfactory to  have  the  arrangement  come  direct 
from  Julian.  If,  as  I  hope,  by  your  presence 
the  old  interest  and  the  old  questions  come 
back  to  him,  he  will  ask  you  to  stay  himself. 
For  the  present  I  have  simply  told  him  that 
you  are  my  friend  and  that  you  have  given 
up  your  secretarial  work  to  come  here  for  a 
much-needed  holiday;  but  we  must  not  waste 
your  time  or  do  anything  against  your  inter- 
ests. I  could  not  allow  that." 

"It  won't  take  very  long,  I  expect,"  Stella 
answered,  "because  he  would  take  a  dislike 
so  quickly.  And  if  he  did  that,  it  wouldn't 
do,  of  course.  We  should  see  in  a  week  or 
two.  If  he  doesn't  dislike  me,  I  can  easily 
talk  to  him  about  Professor  Paulson.  I  re- 
member they  had  an  argument  once — about 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         179 

reindeer-moss.  Your  son  said  he  had  discov- 
ered it  where  Professor  Paulson  had  said  it 
did  n't  exist.  I  could  bring  that  up  quite  com- 
fortably. The  mere  mention  of  a  fellow-la- 
borer's effort  stings  a  man  into  the  wish  to 
prove  something  or  other  about  it;  and  once 
you  start  proving,  secretaries  follow." 

"Make  them  follow,"  said  Lady  Verny, 
smiling.  "I  don't  think  he  will  dislike  you, — 
we  usually  dislike  the  same  people, — only 
Julian  always  goes  further  than  I  do;  he  dis- 
likes them  more."  Then  her  smile  faded. 
"You  will  see  him  to-night  at  dinner,"  she 
said  gravely.  She  could  not  smile  again  after 
she  had  said  that;  but  she  took  Stella  herself 
through  the  dark  oak  hall  and  up  the  broad, 
winding  staircase  to  a  little,  old,  square  room 
that  looked  out  over  the  garden  to  the  flooded 
water-meadows. 

"I  don't  know  if  you  like  gardens,"  Lady 
Verny  said  a  little  shyly.  "It 's  rather  a 
hobby  of  mine.  You  '11  see  it  to-morrow." 

"I  like  even  my  own,"  said  Stella,  "though 
it  only  holds  one  plane-tree  and  ten  cats.  At 
least  it  doesn't  really  hold  the  cats.  They 
spill  in  and  out  of  it  in  showers  like  the  soot, 


180        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

only  more  noisily;  and  I  pretend  there's  a 
lilac-bush  in  the  corner." 

Lady  Verny  stood  by  the  door  for  a  mo- 
ment as  if  she  were  making  up  her  mind  for  an 
immense  advance,  an  almost  dazzling  plunge 
into  confidence. 

"I  have  a  feeling,"  she  said  slowly,  "as  if 
you  would  make  a  good  gardener." 

After  she  had  gone,  Stella  opened  the  win- 
dow, and  leaned  out  into  the  garden.  She 
could  see  nothing  but  the  soft  darkness,  some- 
times massed  in  the  thickness  of  the  yew- 
hedges,  and  sometimes  tenuous  and  spread  out 
over  the  empty  spaces  of  the  lawns. 

The  air  blew  fre^h  upon  her  face,  full  of 
sweetness  and  the  promise  of  life.  Stella  told 
herself  bitterly  that  nature  was  cruel;  it  let 
strong  young  things  die,  and  if  that  did  n't 
matter  (and  she  sometimes  thought  dying 
did  n't) ,  nature  did  worse:  it  maimed  and  held 
youth  down.  But  nothing  in  her  responded 
to  the  thought  that  nature  was  cruel.  A  tiny 
crescent  moon  shone  out  between  the  hurrying 
clouds,  and  cast  a  slim  shadow  of  silver  across 
the  dark  waters.  "Things  are  cruel,"  Stella 
said  to  herself,  "but  what  is  behind  them  is  not 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        181 

cruel,  and  it  must  come  through.  And  I  'm 
little  and  stupid  and  shy;  but  some  of  it  is  in 
me  for  Julian,  and  he  '11  have  to  have  it. 
I  shan't  know  how  to  give  it  to  him.  I 
shall  make  hideous  blunders  and  muddles,  and 
the  more  I  want  to  give,  the  harder  it  '11  be 
to  do  it.  Fortunately,  it  does  not  depend  on 
me.  I  can  be  as  stupid  as  I  like  if  I  'm  only 
thinking  of  him  ^nd  only  caring  for  him  and 
only  wanting  it  to  come  through  me.  Noth- 
ing can  stop  it  but  minding  because  I  'm 
stupid.  And  as  for  being  in  love,  the  more 
I  'm  in  it  the  better.  For  that 's  what  we  're 
all  in  really,  only  we  're  none  of  us  in  it  enough. 
As  long  as  I  'm  not  in  it  for  anything  I  can 
get  out  of  it,  everything  will  be  all  right.  If 
I  do  mind,  it  does  n't  matter  if  only  what  I 
want  gets  through  to  Julian." 

She  lay  down  on  the  bed  and  listened  to  the 
wind  in  the  garden  playing  among  the  tree- 
tops.  She  listened  for  a  long  time,  until  she 
thought  that  the  garden  was  upon  her  side, 
and  then  she  heard  another  sound.  She  knew 
in  a  moment  what  it  was;  it  struck  straight 
against  her  heart :  it  was  the  tap-tap  along  the 
passage  of  wooden  crutches. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LADY  VERNY  and  Julian  were  sitting 
in  the  hall  when  Stella  joined  them.  It 
wasn't  in  the  least  terrible  meeting  Julian; 
he  had  reduced  his  physical  disabilities  to  the 
minimum  of  trouble  for  other  people.  He 
swung  himself  about  on  his  crutches  with  an 
extraordinary  ease,  and  he  had  taught  himself 
to  deal  with  his  straitened  powers  so  that  he 
needed  very  little  assistance ;  he  had  even  con- 
trolled himself  sufficiently  to  bear  without  ap- 
parent dislike  the  occasional  help  that  he  was 
forced  to  accept. 

It  was  the  Vernys'  religion  that  one 
shouldn't  make  a  fuss  over  anything  larger 
than  a  broken  boot-lace.  Temper  could  be  let 
loose  over  the  trivial,  but  it  must  be  kept  if 
there  was  any  grave  cause  for  it. 

Julian  wished  to  disembarrass  the  casual  eye 
of  pity,  partly  because  it  was  a  nuisance  to 
make  people  feel  uncomfortable,  and  partly 
because  it  infuriated  him  to  be  the  cause  of 

182 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         183 

compassion.  Lady  Verny  had  not  pointed 
this  out  to  Stella ;  she  had  left  her  to  draw  her 
own  inferences  from  her  own  instincts.  Lady 
Verny  did  not  believe  in  either  warnings  or 
corrections  after  the  days  of  infancy  were 
passed. 

She  smiled  across  at  Stella  and  said  quietly: 

"My  son — Miss  Waring." 

Stella  was  for  an  instant  aware  of  Julian's 
eyes  dealing  sharply  and  defensively  with  hers. 
He  wanted  to  see  if  she  was  going  to  be  such 
a  fool  as  to  pity  him.  She  was  n't  such  a  fool. 
Without  a  protest  she  let  him  swing  himself 
heavily  to  his  feet  before  he  held  out  his  hand 
to  her.  Her  eyes  met  his  without  shrinking 
and  without  emphasis.  She  knew  she  must 
look  rather  wooden  and  stupid,  but  anything 
was  better  than  looking  too  intelligent  or  too 
kind. 

She  realized  that  she  had  n't  made  any  mis- 
take from  the  fact  that  Lady  Verny  laid  down 
her  embroidery.  She  would  have  continued 
it  steadily  if  anything  had  gone  wrong. 

There  was  no  recognition  in  Julian's  eyes  ex- 
cept the  recognition  that  his  mother's  new 
friend  looked  as  if  she  wasn't  going  to  be  a 


184        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

bother.  Stella  had  n't  mattered  when  he  met 
her  before,  and  she  did  n't  matter  now.  She 
had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  she  owed 
his  oblivion  of  her  to  her  own  insignificance. 

"I  'm  sure  it 's  awfully  good  of  you,"  Julian 
said,  "to  come  down  here  and  enliven  my 
mother  when  we  've  nothing  to  offer  you  but 
some  uncommonly  bad  weather." 

"I  find  we  have  one  thing,"  Lady  Verny 
interposed.  "Miss  Waring  is  interested  in 
Horsham.  You  must  motor  her  over  there. 
She  wants  to  see  Shelley's  pond." 

"Do  you?"  asked  Julian.  "I  '11  take  you 
with  pleasure,  but  I  must  admit  that  I  think 
Shelley  was  an  uncommonly  poor  specimen; 
never  been  able  to  stand  all  that  shrill,  woolly 
prettiness  of  his.  It  sets  my  teeth  on  edge. 
I  don't  think  much  of  a  man,  either,  who 
breaks  laws,  and  then  wants  his  conduct  to  be 
swallowed  like  an  angel's.  Have  you  ever 
watched  a  dog  that 's  funked  a  scrap  kick  up 
the  earth  all  round  him  and  bark  himself  into 
thinking  he  's  no  end  of  a  fine  fellow  in  spite 
of  it?" 

"I  don't  believe  you  've  read  Shelley,"  cried 
Stella,  stammering  with  eagerness.  "I  mean 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         185 

properly.  You  've  only  skimmed  the  fanciest 
bits.  And  he  never  saw  the  sense  of  laws. 
They  were  n't  his  own;  he  did  n't  break  them. 
The  laws  he  broke  were  only  the  dreadful, 
muddled  notions  of  respectable  people  who 
did  n't  want  to  be  inconvenienced  by  facts.  I 
dare  say  it  did  make  him  a  little  shrill  and 
frightened  flying  in  the  face  of  the  whole 
world.  However  stupid  a  face  it  has,  it 's  a 
massive  one ;  but  he  did  n't,  for  all  the  fright 
and  the  defiance,  funk  his  fight." 

"Let  us  settle  Shelley  at  the  dinner-table," 
said  Lady  Verny,  drawing  Stella's  arm  into 
hers  and  leaving  Julian  to  follow.  "Person- 
ally I  do  not  agree  with  either  of  you.  I  do 
not  think  Shelley  was  a  coward,  and  I  do  not 
think  that  as  a  man  he  was  admirable.  He 
has  always  seemed  to  me  apart  from  his  species, 
like  his  own  skylark;  'Bird  thou  never  wert.' 
He  was  an  'unpremeditated  art/  a  'clear,  keen 
joyance,'  anything  you  like;  but  he  had  n't  the 
rudiments  of  a  man  in  him.  He  was  neither 
tough  nor  tender,  and  he  never  looked  a  fact 
in  the  face." 

"There  are  plenty  of  people  to  look  at  facts," 
objected  Stella.  "Surely  we  can  spare  one  to 


186         THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

live  in  clouds  and  light  and  give  us,  in  return 
for  a  few  immunities,  their  elemental  spirit." 

"People  shouldn't  expect  to  be  given  im- 
munities," said  Julian.  "They  should  take 
'em  if  they  want  'em,  and  then  be  ready  to  pay 
for  'em;  nobody  is  forced  to  run  with  the 
crowd.  What  I  object  to  is  their  taking  to 
their  heels  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  then 
complaining  of  loneliness.  Besides,  start  giv- 
ing people  immunities,  and  see  what  it  leads  to 
— a  dozen  Shelleys  without  poems  and  God 
knows  how  many  Harriets.  What  you  want 
in  a  poet  is  a  man  who  has  something  to  say 
and  sticks  to  the  path  while  he  's  saying  it." 

"Oh,  you  might  be  talking  about  bishops!" 
cried  Stella,  indignantly.  "How  far  would 
you  have  gone  yourself  on  your  Arctic  explor- 
ations if  you  'd  stuck  to  paths?  Why  should 
a  poet  run  on  a  given  line,  like  an  electric  tram- 
car?" 

"I  think  Miss  Waring  has  rather  got  the 
better  of  you,  Julian,"  said  Lady  Verny,  smil- 
ing. "You  chose  an  unfortunate  metaphor." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Julian,  with  a  gleam 
of  amusement.  "I  chose  a  jolly  good  one, 
and  she  's  improved  it.  You  can  go  some  dis- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        187 

tance  with  a  decent  poet,  but  you  can't  with 
your  man,  Miss  Waring.  He  twiddles  up  into 
the  sky  before  you  've  got  your  foot  on  the 
step." 

"That's  a  direct  challenge,"  said  Lady 
Verny.  "I  think  after  dinner  we  must  pro- 
duce something  of  Shelley's  in  contradiction. 
Can  you  think  of  anything  solid  enough  to 
bear  Julian?" 

"Yes,"  said  Stella.  "All  the  way  here  in 
the  train  I  was  thinking  of  one  of  Shelley's 
poems.  Have  you  read  it — 'The  Ode  to  the 
West  Wind'?" 

"No,"  said  Julian,  smiling  at  her;  "but  it 
does  n't  sound  at  all  substantial.  You  started 
your  argument  on  a  cloud,  and  you  finish  off 
with  wind.  The  Lord  has  delivered  you  into 
my  hand." 

"Not  yet,  Julian,"  said  Lady  Verny. 
"Wait  till  you  've  heard  the  poem." 

It  did  not  seem  in  the  least  surprisipg  to 
Stella  to  find  herself,  half  an  hour  later,  sit- 
ting in  a  patch  of  candle-light,  on  a  high-backed 
oak  chair,  saying  aloud  without  effort  or  self- 
consciousness  Shelley's  "Ode  to  the  West 
Wind." 


188        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Neither  Lady  Verny  nor  Julian  ever  made 
a  guest  feel  strange.  There  was  in  them  both 
an  innate  courtesy,  which  was  there  to  protect 
the  feelings  of  others.  They  did  not  seem  to 
be  protecting  Stella.  They  left  her  alone,  but 
in  the  act  of  doing  so  they  set  her  free  from 
criticism.  Lady  Verny  took  up  her  embroid- 
ery, and  Julian,  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  an 
old  oak  settle,  contentedly  smoked  a  cigarette. 
He  did  not  appear  to  be  watching  Stella,  but 
neither  her  movements  nor  her  expressions  es- 
caped him.  She  was  quite  different  from  any 
one  he  had  seen  before.  She  wore  a  curious 
little  black  dress,  too  high  to  be  smart,  but  low 
enough  to  set  in  relief  her  white,  slim  throat. 
She  carried  her  head  badly,  so  that  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  see  at  first  the  beauty  of  the  lines  from 
brow  to  chin.  She  had  a  curious,  irregular 
face,  like  one  of  the  more  playful  and  less  at- 
tentive angels  in  a  group  round  a  Botticelli 
Madonna.  She  had  no  color,  and  all  the  life 
of  her  face  was  concentrated  in  her  gray,  far- 
seeing  eyes.  Julian  had  never  seen  a  pair  of 
eyes  in  any  face  so  alert  and  fiery.  They  were 
without  hardness,  and  the  fire  in  them  melted 
easily  into  laughter.  But  they  changed  with 


Her  voice  was  unfettered  music 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        191 

the  tones  of  her  voice,  with  the  rapid  words 
she  said,  so  that  to  watch  them  was  almost  to 
know  before  she  spoke  what  her  swift  spirit 
meant.  Her  voice  was  unfettered  music, 
low,  with  quick  changes  of  tone  and  intona- 
tion. 

Stella  was  absorbed  in  her  desire  to  give 
Julian  a  sense  of  Shelley.  She  wanted  to 
make  him  see  that  beyond  the  world  of  fact,  the 
ruthless,  hampering  world  of  which  he  was  a 
victim,  there  was  another,  finer  kingdom  where 
no  disabilities  existed  except  those  that  a  free 
spirit  set  upon  itself. 

She  was  frightened  of  the  sound  of  her  own 
voice;  but  after  the  first  verse,  the  thought 
and  the  wild  music  steadied  her.  She  lost  the 
sense  of  herself,  and  even  the  flickering  fire- 
light faded ;  she  felt  out  once  more  in  the  warm, 
swinging  wind,  with  its  call  through  the  senses 
to  the  soul.  The  first  two  parts  of  the  poem, 
with  their  sustained  and  tremendous  imagery, 
said  themselves  without  effort  or  restraint.  It 
was  while  she  was  in  the  halcyon  third  portion 
of 

"The  blue  Mediterranean,  where  he  lay, 
Dulled  by  the  coil  of  his  crystalline  streams," 


192        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

that  it  shot  through  Stella's  mind  how  near 
she  was  to  the  tragic  unfolding  of  a  fettered 
spirit  which  might  be  the  expression  of  Julian's 
own.  She  dared  not  stop;  the  color  rushed 
over  her  face.  By  an  enormous  effort  she  kept 
her  voice  steady  and  flung  into  it  all  the  uncon- 
sciousness she  could  muster.  He  should  not 
dream  she  thought  of  him ;  and  yet  as  she  said : 

"Oh !  lift  me  as  a  wave,  a  leaf,  a  cloud ! 

I  fall  upon  the  thorns  of  life !     I  bleed ! 

A  heavy  weight  of  hours  has  chain'd  and  bowed 

One  too  like  thee — tameless,  and  swift,  and  proud." 

it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  the  voice  of  his 
inner  soul  stating  his  bitter  secret  to  the  world. 
A  pulse  beat  in  her  throat  and  struggled  with 
her  breath,  her  knees  shook  under  her ;  but  the 
music  of  her  low,  grave  voice  went  on  unfal- 
teringly: 

"Make  me  thy  lyre,  even  as  the  forest  is. 
What  if  my  leaves  are  falling,  like  its  own!" 

Lady  Verny  laid  down  her  embroidery. 
Julian  had  not  moved.  There  was  no  sound 
left  in  the  world  but  Stella's  voice. 

She  moved  slowly  toward  the  unconquerable 
end, 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         193 

"Oh,  Wind, 
If  winter  comes,  can  spring  be  far  behind?" 

All  the  force  of  her  heart  throbbed  through 
Shelley's  words.  They  were  only  words,  but 
they  had  the  universe  behind  them.  Nobody 
spoke  when  she  had  finished. 

She  herself  was  the  first  to  move.  She  gave 
a  quick,  impatient  sigh,  and  threw  out  her 
hands  with  a  little  gesture  of  despair. 

"I  can't  give  it  to  you,"  she  said,  "but  it 's 
there.  Read  it  for  yourself !  It 's  worth 
breaking  laws  for;  I  think  it's  worth  being 
broken  for." 

Julian  answered  her.  He  spoke  carefully 
and  a  little  stiffly. 

"I  don't  think  I  agree  with  you,"  he  said. 
"Nothing  is  worth  being  broken  for." 

Stella  bowed  her  head.  She  was  aware  of 
an  absolute  and  appalling  sense  of  exhaustion 
and  of  an  inner  failure  more  terrible  than  any 
physical  collapse. 

It  was  as  if  Julian  had  pushed  aside  her 
soul. 

"Still,  I  think  you  must  admit,  Julian," 
Lady  Verny  said  quietly,  "that  'The  Ode  to 
the  West  Wind'  is  an  admirable  poem.  I  'm 


194        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

afraid,  my  dear,  you  have  tired  yourself  in 
saying  it  for  us.  I  know  the  poem  very  well, 
but  I  have  never  either  understood  or  enjoyed 
it  so  much  before.  Do  you  not  think  you  had 
better  go  to  bed?  Julian  will  excuse  us.  I 
find  I  am  a  little  tired  myself." 

Stella  rose  to  her  feet  uncertainly.  She  was 
afraid  that  Julian  would  get  up  again  and 
light  their  candles;  but  for  a  moment  he  did 
not  move.  He  was  looking  at  her  reconsider- 
ingly,  as  if  something  in  his  mind  was  recog- 
nizing something  in  hers ;  then  he  dragged  him- 
self up,  as  she  had  feared  he  would,  and  punc- 
tiliously lighted  their  candles. 

"It 's  rather  absurd  not  having  electric  light 
here,  is  n't  it?"  he  observed,  handing  Stella  her 
candle.  "But  we  can't  make  up  our  minds 
to  it.  We  like  candle-light  with  old  oak. 
I  'm  not  prepared  to  give  in  about  your  fellow 
Shelley ;  but  I  confess  I  like  that  poem  better 
than  the  others  I  have  read.  You  must  put 
me  up  to  some  more  another  time." 

If  she  had  made  one  of  her  frightful  blun- 
ders, he  was  n't  going  to  let  her  see  it.  His 
smile  was  perfectly  kind,  perfectly  impenetra- 
ble. She  felt  as  if  he  were  treating  her  like 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         195 

an  intrusive  child.  Lady  Verny  said  nothing 
more  about  the  poem;  but  as  she  paused  out- 
side Stella's  door  she  leaned  over  her  and  very 
lightly  kissed  her  cheek. 

It  was  as  if  she  said:  "Yes,  I  know  you 
made  a  mistake;  but  go  on  making  them.  I 
can't.  I  'm  too  like  him ;  so  that  the  only  thing 
for  me  to  do  is  to  leave  him  alone.  But  per- 
haps one  day  one  of  your  mistakes  may  reach 
him;  and  if  they  can't,  nothing  can." 

Stella  shivered  as  she  stood  alone  before  the 
firelight.  Everything  in  the  room  was  beau- 
tiful, the  chintz  covers,  the  thick,  warm  car- 
pet, the  gleam  of  the  heavy  silver  candlesticks. 
The  furniture  was  not  chosen  because  it  had 
been  suitable.  It  was  suitable  because  it  had 
been  chosen  long  ago.  It  had  grown  like  its 
surroundings  into  a  complete  harmony,  and 
all  this  beauty,  all  this  warm,  old,  shining  pol- 
ish of  inanimate  objects  and  generations  of 
good  manners,  covered  an  ache  like  a  hollow 
tooth.  Nobody  could  get  down  to  what  was 
wrong  because  they  were  too  well  bred;  and 
was  it  very  likely  that  they  were  going  to  let 
Stella?  She  would  annoy  Julian,  she  had 
probably  annoyed  him  to-night ;  but  would  she 


196        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

ever  reach  him?  In  her  mind  she  had  been 
able  to  think  of  him  as  near  her ;  but  now  that 
she  was  in  the  same  house,  she  felt  as  if  she 
were  on  the  other  side  of  unbridged  space.  He 
was  frightening,  too;  he  was  so  much  hand- 
somer than  she  remembered,  and  so  much  more 
alive.  It  was  inconceivable  that  he  should 
ever  want  to  work  with  her. 

She  sat  down  before  an  oval  silver  mirror 
and  looked  at  her  face.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
she  was  confronted  by  an  empty  little  slab 
without  light.  She  gave  it  a  wintry  smile  be- 
fore she  turned  away  from  it. 

"I  don't  suppose  he  '11  ever  want  anything 
of  you,"  she  said  to  herself,  "except  to  go 
away." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
T    ATER  Stella  wrote: 

Eurydice  dearest: 

It 's  the  strangest  household,  or  else,  perhaps,  every- 
body else's  is.  You  never  see  anybody  doing  anything, 
and  yet  everything  gets  done.  It 's  all  ease  and  velvet 
and  bells;  and  yet  in  spite  of  nothing  being  a  minute 
late,  you  never  notice  the  slightest  hurry.  It  is  n't 
clockwork ;  it 's  more  like  the  stars  in  their  courses.  I 
always  thought  being  properly  waited  on  made  people 
helpless ;  it  would  me  in  ten  minutes.  I  can  see  myself 
sinking  into  a  cream-fed  cushion,  but  the  Vernys  sit  bolt 
upright,  and  no  servant  they  possess  can  do  any  given 
thing  as  well  for  them  as  they  can  do  it  for  themselves. 

I  have  breakfast  in  my  room,  with  a  robin,  and  the 
window  open — oh,  open  on  to  the  sharpest  paradise! 

While  I  lie  in  bed  I  can  see  an  old,  moss-covered  barn 
which  always  manages  to  have  a  piece  of  pink  sky  be- 
hind it  and  a  black  elm  bough  in  front.  It 's  a  wonder- 
ful barn,  as  old  as  any  hill,  and  with  all  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow  subservient  to  it.  That 's  one  window ;  the 
other  two  look  over  the  garden. 

There  's  a  terrace,  and  a  lawn  out  of  which  little  glens 
197 


198        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

and  valleys  wander  down  the  hillside  into  the  water- 
meadows,  and  there  's  a  lake  drowned  out  by  the  water, 
with  swans  more  or  less  kept  in  it  by  a  hedge  of  willows. 

The  water-meadows  are  more  beautiful  than  all  the 
little  shiny  clouds  that  race  across  the  valley.  Some- 
times they  're  like  a  silver  tray,  with  green  islands  and 
wet  brown  trees  on  them;  and  sometimes  they  are  a 
traveling  mist;  and  then  the  sun  slants  out  (I  haven't 
seen  it  full  yet),  and  everything 's  blue — the  frailest, 
pearliest  blue. 

Yesterday  was  quite  empty,  with  only  its  own  light, 
and  when  evening  came  the  water-meadows  and  the  little 
hills  were  lost  in  amethyst. 

I  have  n't  said  anything  about  the  downs.  I  can't. 
We  walk  on  them  in  the  afternoon.  At  least  we  walk 
along  the  lane  that  goes  through  the  village  (it 's  full  of 
mud;  but  one  gets  quite  fond  of  mud),  and  then  when 
you  feel  the  short  turf  under  you,  and  the  fields  drop 
down,  you  go  up  into  the  sky  and  float. 

One  begins  so  well,  too.  At  breakfast  there  's  sucK 
beautiful  china,  butter  in  a  lordly  dish,  always  honey, 
and  often  mushrooms.  Everything  tastes  as  if  it  came 
fresh  out  of  the  sky. 

I  can  do  exactly  as  I  like  all  day.  Nobody's  plans 
conflict  with  any  one  else's.  That 's  partly  being  rich 
and  partly  being  sensible ;  it 's  quite  wonderful  how 
easy  life  is  if  you  're  both.  There 's  a  special  room 
given  to  me,  with  a  piano  and  books ;  and  if  I  want  Lady 
Verny,  I  can  find  her  in  the  garden. 

I  can  see  her  out  of  my  window  now;  she  's  wearing 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        199 

E*  garment  that 's  a  cross  between  a  bathing-dress  and 
a  dressing-gown,  enormous  gauntlets,  and  one  of  Sir 
Julian's  old  caps.  There  are  gardeners,  especially  one 
called  Potter.  (Whenever  anything  goes  wrong  Lady 
Verny  shakes  her  head  and  says,  "Ah,  that 's  the  Pot- 
ter's thumb!")  But  you  never  see  them.  She's  al- 
ways doing  something  in  the  garden.  Half  the  time  I 
can't  discover  what;  but  she  just  smiles  at  me  and  says, 
"Nature  's  so  untidy,"  or,  "The  men  need  looking  after." 
Both  Lady  Verny  and  Sir  Julian  are  very  serious  over 
their  servants.  In  a  way  they  're  incredibly  nice  to 
them,  they  seem  to  have  them  so  much  on  their  minds. 
They  're  always  discussing  their  relatives  or  their  sore 
throats,  and  they  give  very  polite,  plain  orders;  but 
then  just  when  you  're  thinking  how  heavenly  it  must  be 
to  work  for  them,  they  say  something  that  chills  you  to 
the  bone.  One  of  the  housemaids  broke  a  china  bowl 
yesterday,  and  came  to  Lady  Verny,  saying: 

"If  you  please,  m'  Lady,  I  did  n't  mean  to  do  it." 
"I  should  hope  not,"  Lady  Verny  said  in  a  voice  like 
marble.     "If  you  had  meant  to  do  it,  I  should  hardly 
keep  you  in  the  house;  but  your  not  having  criminal 
tendencies  is  not  an  excuse  for  culpable  carelessness." 

Sir  Julian 's  worse  because  his  eyes  are  harder ;  he 
must  have  caught  them  from  one  of  his  icebergs.  But  the 
servants  stay  with  them  forever,  and  when  one  of  the 
grooms  had  pneumonia  in  the  winter,  Sir  Julian  sat  up 
with  him  for  three  nights  because  the  man  was  afraid 
of  dying,  and  it  quieted  him  to  have  his  master  in  the 


200        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

J  'm  beginning  to  work  in  the  garden  myself,  the 
smells  are  so  nice,  and  the  dogs  like  it.  Lady  Verny 
has  a  spaniel  and  two  fox-terriers,  and  Sir  Julian  a 
very  fierce,  unpleasant  Arctic  monster,  with  a  blunt  nose 
like  a  Chow,  and  eyes  red  with  temper  and  a  thirst  for 
blood. 

He  's  always  locked  up  when  he  is  n't  with  Sir  Julian. 
If  he  was  n't,  I  'm  sure  he  'd  take  the  other  three  dogs 
as  hors-d'oauvre,  and  follow  them  up  with  the  gardeners. 

I  don't  know  what  he  does  all  day.  Sir  Julian  I 
mean;  the  Arctic  dog  growls.  They  never  turn  up  till 
tea-time;  then  they  disappear  again,  and  come  back  at 
dinner.  At  least  Sir  Julian  does.  The  Arctic  dog  (his 
name  is  Ostrog)  is  not  allowed  at  meals,  because  he 
thinks  everything  in  the  room  ought  to  be  killed  first. 

After  dinner  I  play  chess  with  Sir  Julian.  He 's 
been  quite  different  to  me  since  he  found  I  could;  be- 
fore he  seemed  to  think  I  was  something  convenient  for 
his  mother,  like  a  pocket-handkerchief.  He  was  ready 
to  pick  me  up  and  give  me  back  to  her  if  I  fell  about, 
but  I  didn't  have  a  life  of  my  own. 

Now  he  often  speaks  to  me  as  if  I  were  really  there. 
They  're  both  immensely  kind  and  good  to  everybody 
in  the  neighborhood,  but  they  see  as  little  of  people  as 
possible. 

They  're  not  a  bit  religious,  though  they  always  go  to 
church,  and  Lady  Verny  reads  Montaigne — beautifully 
bound,  like  Sir  Thomas  a  Kempis — during  the  sermon. 
A  great  deal  of  the  land  belongs  to  them,  and  I  suppose 
they  could  use  a  lot  of  influence  if  they  chose.  I  al- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         201 

ways  dislike  people  having  power  over  other  human  be- 
ings; but  the  Vernys  never  use  it  to  their  own  advan- 
tage. In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  they  don't  use  it  at  all. 
I  heard  the  vicar  imploring  Sir  Julian  to  turn  a  drunken 
tenant  out  of  a  cottage,  as  his  example  was  bad  for  the 
village.  But  Sir  Julian  would  n't  even  agree  to  speak 
to  him.  "I  always  believe  in  letting  people  go  to  the 
devil  in  their  own  way/'  he  said.  "If  you  try  to  stop 
'em,  they  only  go  to  him  in  yours.  Of  course  I  don't 
mean  you,  Parson.  It 's  your  profession  to  give  people 
a  lead.  But  I  could  n't  speak  about  his  morals  to  a  man 
who  owed  me  three  years'  rent." 

I  expect  I  shall  have  to  come  back  next  week  to  the 
town  hall.  Thank  Mr.  Travers  so  much  for  saying  I 
may  stay  on  longer,  but  I  really  could  n't  go  on  taking 
my  salary  when  I  'm  bursting  with  health  and  doing 
nothing.  I  '11  wait  two  more  days  before  writing  to  him, 
but  I  must  confess  I  'd  rather  have  all  my  teeth  extracted 
than  mention  Professor  Paulson  to  Sir  Julian. 

I  have  n't  seen  the  slightest  desire  for  work  in  him ; 
but,  then,  I  haven't  seen  any  desire  in  him  at  all  ex- 
cept a  suicidal  fancy  for  driving  a  dangerous  mare  in  a 
high  dog-cart.  He  never  speaks  of  himself  or  of  the 
war,  and  he  is  about  as  personal  as  a  mahogany  side- 
board. 

Lady  Verny  isn't  much  easier  to  know,  though  she 
seems  to  like  talking  to  me.  I  asked  her  to  call  me 
Stella  the  other  day,  and  she  put  down  her  trowel  and 
looked  at  me,  as  if  she  thought  it  wasn't  my  place  to 
make  such  a  suggestion ;  then  she  said,  "  Well,  perhaps 


202        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

I  will."  I  wish  we  'd  been  taught  whose  place  things 
are;  it  would  be  so  much  simpler  when  you  are  with 
people  who  have  places.  But  Lady  Verny  does  n't  dis- 
like me,  because  I  've  seen  her  with  people  she  dislikes. 
She  's  much  more  polite  then,  and  never  goes  on  with 
anything.  Last  night  when  I  was  playing  chess  with 
Sir  Julian  (it  was  an  awful  fight,  for  he  's  rather  better 
than  I  am,  though  I  can't  let  him  know  it)  she  said  to 
him,  "I  hope  you  are  not  tiring  Stella." 

He  looked  up  sharply,  as  if  he  was  awfully  surprised 
to  hear  her  saying  my  name,  and  then  he  gave  me  a 
queer  little  smile  as  if  he  were  pleased  with  me.  I  be- 
lieve they  're  fond  of  each  other,  but  I  've  never  seen 
them  show  any  sign  of  affection. 

But,  O  Eurydice,  though  they  're  awfully  charming 
and  interesting  and  dear,  they  're  terribly  unhappy.  You 
feel  it  all  the  time — a  dumb,  blind  pain  that  they  can't 
get  over  or  understand,  and  that  nothing  will  ever  in- 
duce them  to  show.  They  are  n't  a  bit  like  the  Arctic 
dog,  who  is  always  disagreeable  unless  he  has  a  bone  and 
Sir  Julian.  You  know  where  you  are  with  the  Arctic 
dog. 

Tell  Mr.  Travers  I  '11  write  directly  I  have  fixed  a 
date  for  my  return. 

Your  ever-loving,  disheveled,  enthralled,  perturbed, 
unfinished 

STELLA. 

p.s.  I  suppose  as  a  family  we  all  talk  too  much ;  we  over- 
say  things,  and  that  makes  them  seem  shallow.  If  you 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         203 

say  very  little,  it  comes  out  in  chunks  and  sounds  solid. 
You  remember  those  dreadful  old  early-Saxon  people 
we  read  once  who  never  used  adjectives?  I  think  we 
ought  to  look  them  up. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

STELLA  found  Lady  Veiny  weeding. 
She  drew  the  weeds  up  very  gracefully 
and  thoroughly,  with  a  little  final  shake. 

It  was  a  hard,  shivering  March  morning. 
Next  to  the  bed  upon  which  Lady  Verny  was 
working  was  a  sheet  of  snowdrops  under  a 
dark  yew-hedge.  They  trembled  and  shook 
in  the  light  air  like  a  drift  of  wind-blown  snow. 

Stella  hovered  irresolutely  above  them ;  then 
she  said: 

"Lady  Verny,  I  am  afraid  I  must  go  back 
to  the  town  hall  next  week.  I  haven't  been 
any  use." 

Lady  Verny  elaborately  coaxed  out  a  low- 
growing  weed,  and  then,  with  a  vicious  twist, 
threw  it  into  the  basket  beside  her. 

"Why  don't  you  go  and  talk  to  Julian?" 
she  asked.  "He  can't  be  expected  to  jump  a 
five-barred  gate  if  he  does  n't  know  it 's 
there." 

204 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         205 

Stella  hesitated  before  she  spoke;  then  she 
said  with  a  little  rush: 

"What  I  feel  now  is  that  I  'm  not  the  per- 
son to  tell  him — to  tell  him  it 's  there,  I  mean. 
I  don't  know  why  I  ever  thought  I  was.  The 
person  to  tell  him  that  would  be  some  one  he 
could  notice  like  a  light,  not  a  person  who  be- 
haves like  a  candle  caught  in  a  draft  whenever 
he  speaks  to  her." 

"My  dear,"  said  Lady  Verny,  ruthlessly  ex- 
posing, and  one  by  one  exterminating,  a  fam- 
ily of  wireworms,  "I  fear  you  have  no  feminine 
sense.  You  have  a  great  many  other  kinds, — 
of  the  mind,  and  no  doubt  of  the  soul.  You 
should  try  to  please  Julian.  You  don't;  you 
leave  him  alone,  and  in  consequence  he  thinks 
he  's  a  failure  with  you.  Women  with  the  fem- 
inine sense  please  a  man  without  appearing  to 
make  the  effort.  The  result  is  that  the  man 
thinks  he  's  pleasing  them,  and  a  man  who 
thinks  that  he  has  succeeded  in  pleasing  an 
agreeable  woman  is  not  unaware  of  her." 

"But  I  'm  so  afraid  of  him,"  pleaded  Stella. 
"I  don't  believe  you  know  how  frightening  he 
is." 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Verny;  "he  has  lost  his 


206        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

inner  security.  That  makes  a  person  very 
frightening,  I  know.  He  has  become  aggres- 
sive because  he  feels  that  something  he  has  al- 
ways counted  on  as  a  weapon  has  been  with- 
drawn from  him.  It 's  like  living  on  your 
wits;  people  who  do  that  are  always  hard.  I 
think  you  can  give  him  the  weapon  back;  but 
to  succeed  you  must  use  all  your  own.  You 
must  go  into  a  room  as  if  it  belonged  to  you. 
It 's  astonishing  how  this  place  suits  you ;  but 
you  must  hold  your  head  up,  and  lay  claim 
to  your  kingdom." 

"But  I  Ve  never  had  a  kingdom,"  objected 
Stella,  "and  I  only  want  him  to  be  interested 
in  the  idea  of  writing  a  book." 

"Well,  that's  what  I  mean,"  said  Lady 
Verny,  decently  interring  the  corpses  of  the 
worms.  "At  least  it 's  part  of  what  I  mean. 
The  only  way  to  get  Julian  to  write  a  book 
just  now  is  to  charm  him.  Men  whose  nerves 
and  hearts  are  broken  don't  respond  readily  to 
the  abstract.  You  can  do  what  I  can't,  be- 
cause I  'm  his  mother.  He  's  made  all  the  con- 
cessions he  could  or  ought  to  make  to  me.  He 
promised  not  to  take  his  life.  Sometimes  in 
these  last  few  months  I  Ve  felt  like  giving 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        207 

him  his  promise  back.  Now  are  you  going  to 
be  afraid  of  trying  to  please  Julian?" 

"O  Lady  Verny,"  Stella  cried,  "you  make 
me  hate  myself !  I  '11  do  anything  in  the  world 
to  please  him ;  I  'd  play  like  a  brass  band,  or 
cover  myself  with  bangles  like  Cleopatra! 
Don't,  don't  think  I  '11  ever  be  a  coward 
again!" 

"You  needn't  go  as  far  as  the  bangles," 
said  Lady  Verny,  smiling  grimly.  "Do  it 
your  own  way,  but  don't  be  afraid  to  let  Ju- 
lian think  you  like  him.  He  finds  all  that  kind 
of  thing  rather  hard  to  believe  just  now. 

"He  's  been  frozen  up.  Remember,  if  he 
is  n't  nice  to  you,  that  thawing  is  always  rather 
a  painful  process.  Now  run  along,  and  leave 
me  in  peace  with  my  worms." 

It  cannot  be  said  that  Stella  ran,  but  she 
went.  She  passed  through  the  hall  and  down 
a  passage;  and  wondered,  if  she  had  been  an 
early-Christian  martyr  about  to  step  into  the 
arena,  whether  she  would  n't  on  the  whole  have 
preferred  a  tiger  to  Julian. 

The  door  opened  on  a  short  passage  at  the 
end  of  which  was  an  old  oak  doorway  heavily 
studded  with  nails.  She  knew  this  must  be 


208        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Julian's  room,  because  she  heard  Ostrog  growl- 
ing ominously  from  inside  it.  Julian  presum- 
ably threw  something  at  him  which  hit  him,  for 
there  was  the  sound  of  a  short  snap,  and  then 
silence. 

"Please  come  in,"  said  Julian  in  a  voice 
of  controlled  exasperation.  Stella  stepped 
quickly  into  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind 
her. 

It  was  a  long,  wide  room  with  a  low  ceil- 
ing. There  were  several  polar  bear-skins  on 
the  floor,  and  a  row  of  stuffed  penguins  on  a 
shelf  behind  Julian's  chair.  Three  of  the  walls 
were  covered  with  bookcases;  the  fourth  was 
bare  except  for  an  extraordinarily  vivid 
French  painting  of  a  girl  seated  in  a  cafe. 
She  had  red  hair  and  a  desperate,  laughing 
face,  and  was  probably  a  little  drunk.  There 
was  a  famous  artist's  signature  beneath  her  fig- 
ure, but  Stella  had  a  feeling  that  Julian  had 
known  the  girl  and  had  not  bought  the  pic- 
ture for  the  sake  of  the  signature. 

Ostrog  stood  in  front  of  her,  growling,  with 
every  separate  hair  on  his  back  erect. 

"Keep  quite  still  for  a  moment,"  said  Ju- 
lian, quickly.  "Ostrog,  lie  down!"  The  dog 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         209 

very  slowly  settled  himself  on  his  haunches, 
with  his  red,  savage  eyes  still  fixed  on  Stella. 

"Now  I  think  you  can  pass  him  safely," 
Julian  added.  "He  has  a  peculiar  dislike  to 
human  proximity,  especially  in  this  room. 
You  can't  write  him  down  as  one  who  loves  his 
fellow-men,  and  I  fear  he  carries  his  unsocia- 
bility  even  further  in  respect  to  his  fellow- 
women." 

"It  must  be  nice  for  you,"  said  Stella,  "to 
have  some  one  who  expresses  for  you  what  you 
are  too  polite  to  say  for  yourself." 

Julian  gave  her  a  quick,  challenging  look. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "Why 
should  you  suppose  any  such  thing?" 

"I  expect  because  it  is  true,"  said  Stella, 
quietly.  "Of  course  you  don't  growl  or  show 
your  teeth,  and  your  eyes  are  n't  red ;  but  no- 
body could  suppose  when  you  said  'Come  in' 
just  now  that  you  wanted  anybody  to  come 
in." 

"The  chances  were  all  in  favor  of  its  being 
somebody  that  I  did  n't  want,"  explained  Ju- 
lian, politely.  "For  once  they  misled  me.  I 
apologize." 

Stella  smiled;  her  eyes  held  his  for  a  mo- 


210        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

ment.  She  did  not  contradict  him,  but  she 
let  him  see  that  she  didn't  believe  him.  "If 
he  was  ever  really  sorry,"  she  thought,  "he 
would  n't  apologize.  When  he  's  polite,  it 's 
because  he  is  n't  anything  else." 

"I  came,"  she  explained,  "to  ask  you  to  lend 
me  Professor  Paulson's  book  on  reindeer-moss. 
Will  you  tell  me  where  it  is  and  let  me  get  it 
for  myself,  if  Ostrog  does  n't  mind?" 

To  her  surprise,  Julian  allowed  her  to  find 
it  for  herself.  Ostrog  continued  to  growl,  but 
without  immediate  menace.  When  she  had 
found  it,  she  took  it  across  to  Julian. 

"Please  don't  run  away,"  he  said  quickly, 
"unless  you  want  to.  Tell  me  what  you  in- 
tend to  look  up  about  the  moss.  I  had  a  little 
tussle  with  Paulson  over  it  once.  He  was  an 
awfully  able  fellow,  but  he  had  n't  the  health 
to  get  at  his  facts  at  first  hand.  That  was  un- 
fortunate; second-hand  accuracy  leaks." 

Stella  sat  down  near  him,  and  in  a  minute 
they  were  launched  into  an  eager  discussion. 
She  had  typed  the  book  herself,  and  had  its 
facts  at  her  fingers'-end.  She  presented  a 
dozen  facets  to  her  questions,  with  a  light  on 
them  from  her  dancing  mind. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        211 

Julian  differed,  defended  himself,  and  ex- 
plained, till  he  found  himself  at  length  in  the 
middle  of  an  account  of  his  last  expedition. 
He  pulled  himself  up  abruptly. 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  a  dark 
horse  you  are!  Do  tell  me  how  you  come  to 
know  anything  about  such  a  subject.  Did  you 
smuggle  yourself  into  an  Arctic  expedition  as 
a  stowaway,  or  have  you  been  prospecting 
gold  at  Klondike  with  a  six-shooter  and  a 
sleeping-sack  ?  It 's  amazing  what  you  know 
about  the  North." 

"It  is  not  so  uncanny  as  you  think,"  said 
Stella,  quietly.  "I  was  Professor  Paulson's 
secretary.  For  five  years  I  studied  the  fauna 
and  flora  of  arctic  regions.  I  used  to  help 
him  examine  the  tests  brought  back  by  ex- 
plorers. He  taught  me  how  to  understand 
and  check  climate  and  weather  charts.  All  the 
collected  specimens  went  through  my  hands. 
I  did  the  drawings  for  this  book,  for  instance. 
You  know,  a  secretary  is  a  kind  of  second 
fiddle.  Give  him  a  lead,  and  he  catches  up 
the  music  and  carries  it  through  as  thoroughly, 
though  not  so  loudly,  as  the  first  violin.  I  like 
being  a  second  fiddle  and  I  like  the  North." 


212        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"That's  odd,"  said  Julian,  drawing  his 
heavy  eyebrows  together.  "I  had  an  idea  I 
had  met  Professor  Paulson's  secretary  before." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  Stella;  "you  did 
meet  her  before." 

Julian  stared  at  her;  his  eyes  hardened. 

"Do  you  mean  that  it  was  you  I  met  at  Sir 
Francis  Young's?"  he  asked  her.  "You  are 
Miss  Young's  great  friend,  then,  are  you  not?" 

Stella  turned  her  eyes  away  from  him.  She 
hated  to  see  him  guarding  himself  against  her. 

"I  was  her  friend,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice; 
"but  I  have  not  seen  her  or  heard  from  her 
for  six  months,  nor  have  I  written." 

Sir  Julian  still  looked  at  her,  but  the  stern- 
ness of  his  eyes  decreased. 

She  sat  meekly  beside  him,  with  her  droop- 
ing head,  like  the  snowdrops  she  had  brought 
in  with  her  from  the  March  morning.  She  did 
not  look  like  a  woman  who  could  be  set,  or 
would  set  herself,  to  spy  upon  him.  He  ac- 
quitted her  of  his  worst  suspicions,  but  his 
pride  was  up  in  arms  against  her  knowledge. 

"It 's  too  stupid  for  me,"  he  said,  "not  to  have 
recognized  you  immediately ;  for  I  have  n't  in 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        213 

the  least  forgotten  you  or  our  talk.  You  said 
some  charming  things,  Miss  Waring;  but  fate, 
a  little  unkindly,  has  proved  them  not  to  be 
true." 

Stella  turned  her  eyes  back  to  his.  She  no 
longer  felt  any  fear  of  him.  She  was  too  sorry 
for  him  to  be  afraid. 

"No,"  she  said  eagerly,  "I  was  perfectly 
right.  I  said  you  were  strong.  Things  have 
happened  to  you, — horrible  things, — but 
you  're  there ;  you  're  there  as  well  as  the 
things — in  control  of  them.  Why,  look  at 
what  you  Ve  been  telling  me — the  story  of 
your  last  expedition !  It 's  so  fearfully  excit- 
ing, and  it 's  all,  as  you  say,  first-hand  knowl- 
edge. You  brought  back  with  you  the  fruits 
of  experience.  Why  don't  you  select  and  sort 
them  and  give  them  to  the  world?" 

He  looked  at  her  questioningly. 

"Do  you  mean  these  old  arctic  scraps?"  he 
said  slowly.  "They  might  have  mattered 
once,  but  they  're  all  ancient  history  now.  The 
flood  and  the  fire  have  come  on  us  since  then. 
All  that 's  as  dead — as  dead  and  useless  as  a 
crippled  man.  Besides,  no  one  can  write  a 


214        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

book  unless  it  interests  him.  I  'm  not  even  in- 
terested." 

Stella's  eyes  fell ;  her  breath  came  quickly. 

"But  don't  you  think,"  she  said,  "you  could 
be  made  a  little  interested  again?  You  were 
interested,  were  n't  you,  when  you  were  talk- 
ing to  me  a  few  minutes  ago?" 

Sir  Julian  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"I  dare  say  I  was  interested  talking  to  you," 
he  said.  "You  're  such  a  changeling :  you 
play  chess  like  a  wizard  and  know  the  North 
like  a  witch.  I  'm  afraid,  Miss  Waring,  that 
interest  in  your  conversation  is  n't  in  itself 
sufficient  to  turn  a  man  into  an  author." 

Stella  rose  slowly  to  her  feet.  She  opened 
her  lips  as  if  to  speak  to  Julian,  but  he  was 
looking  past  her  out  of  the  window,  with  a 
little  bitter  smile  that  took  away  her  hopeful- 
ness. Ostrog  escorted  her,  growling  less  and 
less  menacingly,  to  the  door.  Stella  did  not 
look  back  at  Julian,  and  she  forgot  to  hold  her 
head  up  as  she  went  out  of  the  room.  After 
she  had  gone  Julian  discovered  that  she  had 
dropped  two  of  her  snowdrops  on  the  floor. 
He  picked  them  up  carefully  and  laid  them  on 
his  desk. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        215 

"A  curious,  interesting  girl,"  he  said  to  him- 
self; "an  incredible  friend  for  Marian  to  have 
had.  I  wonder  what  made  my  mother  take 
her  up?" 


CHAPTER  XX 

LADY  VERNY  finished  her  weeding.  It 
took  her  an  hour  and  a  half  to  do  what 
she  wanted  to  the  bed;  then  she  rose  from  her 
cramped  position,  and  went  into  Julian's  li- 
brary by  one  of  the  French  windows.  She 
guessed  that  Stella  had  failed. 

Julian  was  lying  on  a  long  couch,  with  his 
hands  behind  the  back  of  his  head  and  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ceiling.  Lady  Verny  knew  that, 
when  he  was  alone,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  lying 
like  this  for  hours.  He  had  told  her  that  since 
his  accident  it  amused  him  more  than  anything 
else. 

She  came  in  without  speaking,  and,  drawing 
off  her  long  gauntlets,  folded  them  neatly  to- 
gether, and  sat  down,  facing  him. 

Julian's  eyes  moved  toward  her  as  she  en- 
tered ;  but  he  gave  her  no  further  greeting,  and 
after  a  speculative  glance  his  eyes  returned  to 
the  ceiling. 

216 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        217 

"It's  a  pity,"  said  Lady  Verny,  thought- 
fully, "that  poor  child  has  to  go  back  to  the 
town  hall  next  week,  a  dreadful,  drafty  place, 
and  be  made  love  to  by  a  common  little  town 
clerk." 

Julian's  eyes  flickered  for  a  moment,  but  did 
not  change  their  position. 

"Town  clerks,"  he  observed,  "are,  I  feel 
sure,  distinguished  persons  who  confine  their 
passions  to  rates  and  taxes." 

"That  must  make  it  all  the  more  trying," 
said  Lady  Verny.  "But  I  don't  mind  the 
town  clerk  as  much  as  I  mind  the  drafts. 
Stella  had  pleurisy  before  she  came  here;  and 
you  know  what  girls  who  do  that  kind  of  work 
eat — ghastly  little  messes,  slopped  on  to  mar- 
ble tables,  and  tasting  like  last  week's  wash." 

"Well,  why  the  devil  does  n't  she  look  for 
another  job?"  Julian  asked  irritably.  "She 
has  brains  enough  for  twenty.  That 's  what  I 
dislike  about  women :  they  get  stuck  anywhere. 
No  dash  in  'em,  no  initiative,  no  judgment." 
It  was  not  what  he  disliked  about  women. 

"She  has  tried,"  said  Lady  Verny.  "The 
man  she  hoped  to  get  a  job  from  wouldn't 
have  her.  She  tried  this  morning." 


218        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Julian's  eyes  moved  now;  they  shot  like  a 
hawk's  on  to  his  mother's,  while  his  body  lay 
as  still  as  a  stone  figure  on  a  tomb. 

"Then  it  was  a  trap,"  he  said  coldly.  "I 
wondered.  I  thought  we  'd  settled  you  were 
going  to  leave  me  alone." 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Verny  in  a  gentle,  even 
voice,  "I  know  we  had,  Julian;  but  I  can't  bear 
it." 

Julian's  eyes  changed  and  softened.  He 
put  his  hand  on  her  knee  and  let  it  rest  there 
for  a  moment. 

"I  can,  if  it's  only  you,"  he  said;  "but  I 
can't  .stand  a  lot  of  sympathetic  women. 
One  's  a  lot." 

"You  don't  like  her,  then?"  his  mother 
asked.  "I  'm  sorry ;  I  always  did  from  the  first 
day  I  saw  her.  I  don't  know  why;  she  has  n't 
any  behavior." 

"I  don't  dislike  her,"  said  Julian.  "I  don't 
think  her  behavior  matters.  She  is  n't  at  all 
a  bother.  I  rather  like  her  being  so  awfully 
little  a  woman ;  it 's  restful.  Half  the  time  I 
don't  notice  if  she  's  in  the  room  or  not." 

"And  the  other  half  of  the  time?"  Lady 
Verny  asked,  with  apparent  carelessness. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        219 

"Oh,  the  other  half  of  the  time,"  said  Ju- 
lian, with  a  little,  twisted  smile,  "I  quite  appre- 
ciate the  fact  that  she  is.  Especially  when 
you  Ve  taken  the  trouble  to  dress  her  as  you 
flid  last  night." 

"I  had  to  see  what  she  looked  like,"  Lady 
Verny  explained  defensively. 

"I  think,  if  you  want  her  to  stay  m  this 
house,"  said  Julian,  dryly,  "you  'd  better  let 
her  look  as  little  like  that  again  as  possible.  I 
might  have  tolerated  a  secretary  if  I  had 
wanted  to  write  a  book ;  but  I  'd  tolerate  no  ap- 
proach to  a  picture.  She  can  go  and  be  pic- 
turesque at  the  town  hall.  My  artistic  sense 
has  already  been  satisfied  up  to  the  brim. 
How  did  you  get  her  to  take  the  clothes  she 
had  on  last  night?" 

"I  told  her,"  said  Lady  Verny,  blushing, 
"that  I  had  the  materials  by  me,  and  could  n't 
possibly  use  them,  as  I  was  too  old  for  light 
colors,  and  Girton  could  make  her  a  simple 
little  dress.  And  then  I  stood  over  Girton. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  did  send  for  the  green 
jade  comb  and  the  shoes  and  stockings." 

"You  seem  to  me,"  said  Julian,  "to  have  en- 
tered most  light-heartedly  upon  a  career  of 


220        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

crime  and  deceit  unusual  at  your  age.  I  don't 
wonder  that  you  blush  for  it." 

"It  was  n't  only  you,  Julian,"  Lady  Verny 
pleaded.  "I  did  want  to  help  the  girl.  I 
can't  bear  public  offices  for  gentlewomen. 
It 's  so  unsuitable!" 

"Most,"  agreed  Julian.  "But,  my  dear 
mother,  this  is  a  world  in  which  the  unsuit- 
able holds  an  almost  perfect  sway,  a  fact 
which  your  usual  good  sense  seldom  over- 
looks." 

"You  don't  know,"  said  Lady  Verny,  ear- 
nestly, "how  even  a  bad  patch  of  ground  fac- 
ing north  can  improve  with  cultivation." 

"Do  what  you  like  with  the  north  side  of  the 
garden,"  replied  Julian,  "do  even  what  you 
like  with  the  apparently  malleable  Miss  War- 
ing; but  please  don't  try  the  gardening  habit 
any  more  on  me." 

Lady  Verny  sighed.  Julian  looked  as  in- 
expressive and  immovable  as  a  stone  crusader. 

Lady  Verny  was  a  patient  woman,  and  she 
knew  that,  once  seed  is  dropped,  you  must 
leave  it  alone. 

She  had  learned  to  abstain  from  all  the  little 
labors  of  love  which  are  its  only  consolations. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         221 

From  the  first  she  had  realized  that  the  things 
she  longed  to  do  for  Julian  he  preferred  to 
have  done  for  him  by  a  servant. 

She  had  accepted  his  preferences  as  the  only 
outlet  of  her  emotions;  but  when  she  saw  he 
was  fast  approaching  the  place  where  nothing 
is  left  but  dislikes,  she  made  an  effort  to  dis- 
lodge him.  She  was  not  sure,  but  she  thought 
that  she  had  failed.  Without  speaking  again, 
she  went  back  to  the  garden  and  did  a  little 
more  digging  before  lunch.  The  earth  was 
more  malleable  than  Julian;  digging  altered 
it. 

If  you  have  never  been  able  to  buy  any 
clothes  except  those  which  you  could  afford, 
none  of  them  having  any  direct  relation  to  the 
other,  but  merely  replacing  garments  incapa- 
ble of  further  use,  to  be  dressed  exactly  as  you 
should  be  is  to  obtain  a  new  consciousness.  It 
was  not  really  Stella  who  looked  with  curious 
eyes  at  herself  in  a  long  mirror  beneath  the 
skilful  hands  of  Girton.  It  was  some  hidden 
creature  of  triumphant  youth  with  a  curious, 
heady  thirst  for  admiration.  She  gazed  at 
herself  with  alien  eyes. 

"It 's  like  an  olive-tree,"  she  said  dreamily 


222        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

to  Girton,  "a  silvery  gray  olive-tree  growing 
in  the  South." 

"I  dare  say,  Miss,"  said  Girton;  "but  if  you 
was  to  remember  when  you  sit  down  just  to 
bring  your  skirts  a  trifle  forward,  it  would  sit 
better." 

"Yes,  Girton,"  said  Stella,  submissively. 
But  the  submission  was  only  skin-deep.  She 
knew  that  whatever  she  did,  she  couldn't  go 
far  wrong ;  her  dress  would  n't  let  her.  It  gave 
her  a  freedom  beyond  the  range  of  conduct. 
People  whose  clothes  fit  them,  as  its  sheath  of 
green  fits  a  lily  of  the  valley,  become  inde- 
pendent of  their  souls. 

Julian's  eyes  had  met  hers  last  night  with  a 
perfectly  different  expression  in  them.  He 
was  too  polite  to  look  surprised,  but  he  looked 
as  soon  as  it  was  convenient,  again. 

Usually  he  looked  at  Stella  as  if  he  wanted 
to  be  nice  to  her,  but  last  night  for  the  first 
time  he  had  looked  as  if  he  wished  Stella  to 
think  him  nice.  She  had  had  to  hold  her  head 
up  because  of  the  jade  comb. 

It  wouldn't  matter  how  either  of  them 
looked  now,  as  she  was  going  away  so  soon; 
but  she  was  glad  that  for  once  he  had  noticed 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        223 

her,  even  if  his  notice  was  inspired  only  by  the 
green  dress. 

Julian  did  not  appear  at  dinner;  it  was  the 
first  time  since  Stella's  arrival  that  this  had 
happened. 

"He  's  had  a  bad  day,"  Lady  Verny  ex- 
plained. "He  will  get  about  more  than  he 
ought.  It 's  a  great  strain  on  him,  and  then 
he  suffers  from  fatigue  and  misery — not  pain, 
exactly.  I  don't  think  he  would  mind  that  so 
much,  but  it  makes  him  feel  very  helpless. 
He  wants  his  chess  though,  if  you  don't  mind 
going  into  his  library  and  playing  with  him." 

Julian  was  sitting  up  in  his  arm-chair  when 
Stella  joined  him.  His  back  was  to  the  light, 
and  the  chess-board  in  front  of  him. 

His  face  was  gray  and  haggard,  but  there 
was  a  dogged  spark  of  light  in  his  eyes,  as  if 
he  was  amused  at  something. 

"Thanks  tremendously  for  coming  in  to 
cheer  me  up,"  he  said  quickly.  "You  see, 
I  Ve  dispensed  with  Ostrog  for  the  evening,  to 
prevent  further  comparison  between  us.  D' 
you  mind  telling  me  why  you  didn't  let  me 
know  this  morning  that,  if  I  wrote  a  book, 
you  'd  work  for  me  ?" 


224        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Stella  flushed,  and  let  her  jade  comb  sink 
beneath  its  level. 

"If  you  did  n't  want  to  write  the  book,"  she 
said,  "why  should  you  want  a  secretary?" 

"It  did  n't  occur  to  you,  I  suppose,"  Sir  Ju- 
lian asked,  "that  if  I  wanted  the  secretary,  I 
might  wish  to  write  the  book?" 

"What  has  Lady  Verny  said  to  you?" 
Stella  demanded,  lifting  her  head  suddenly, 
and  looking  straight  across  at  him. 

"Nothing  that  need  make  you  at  all  fierce," 
Julian  replied,  with  amusement.  "She  said 
you  were  going  back  to  the  town  hall  next 
week,  and  I  said  I  thought  it  was  a  pity.  You 
don't  seem  to  me  in  the  least  fitted  for  a  town 
hall.  I  Ve  no  doubt  you  can  do  incredible 
things  with  drains,  but  I  fear  I  have  a  selfish 
preference  for  your  playing  chess  with  me. 
My  mother  added  that  it  was  my  fault;  you 
were  prepared,  if  I  wished  to  write  a  book,  to 
see  me  through  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Stella,  defensively,  "I  was  pre- 
pared, if  I  thought  you  wanted  it." 

"I  suppose  you  and  my  mother  thought  it 
would  be  good  for  me,  did  n't  you?"  asked  Ju- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         225 

lian,  suavely.  "I  have  an  idea  that  you  had 
concocted  a  treacherous  underground  plot." 

"We — I — well,  if  you'd  liked  it,  it  might 
have  been  good  for  you,"  Stella  admitted. 

"Most  immoral,"  said  Julian,  dryly,  "to  try 
to  do  good  to  me  behind  my  back,  was  n't  it? 
You  see,  I  dislike  being  done  good  to;  I  hap- 
pen very  particularly  to  dislike  it,  and  above 
all  things  I  dislike  it  being  done  without  my 
knowledge." 

"Yes,"  said  Stella,  humbly.  "So  do  I;  I 
see  that  now.  It  was  silly  and  interfering. 
Only,  if  you  had  been  interested — " 

"I  was  n't  in  the  least  interested,"  said  Ju- 
lian, implacably,  "but  I  'm  glad  you  agree 
about  your  moral  obliquity.  My  mother,  of 
course,  was  worse;  but  there  is  no  criminal  so 
deep  seated  in  her  career  as  a  woman  under 
the  sway  of  the  maternal  instinct.  One  al- 
lows for  that.  And  now,  Miss  Waring,  since 
neither  of  us  likes  being  done  good  to,  and  since 
it 's  bad  for  you  to  go  back  to  the  town  hall, 
and  worse  for  me  to  remain  unemployed,  shall 
we  pool  this  shocking  state  of  things  and  write 
the  book  together?" 


226        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"Oh!"  cried  Stella  with  a  little  gasp.  "But 
are  you  sure  you  want  to?" 

Julian  laughed. 

"I  may  be  politer  than  Ostrog,"  he  said,  "but 
I  assure  you  that,  like  him,  unless  reduced  by 
force,  I  never  do  what  I  don't  want  to." 

*And  you  haven't  been  reduced?"  Stella 
asked  a  little  doubtfully. 

"Well,"  said  Julian,  beginning  to  place  his 
chessmen,  "I  don't  think  so;  do  you?  Where 
was  the  force?" 

Stella  could  not  answer  this  question,  and 
Lady  Verny,  who  might  have  been  capable  of 
answering  it,  was  up-stairs. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

STELLA  found  that  there  were  several 
Julians.  The  first  one  she  knew  quite 
well;  he  only  wanted  to  be  left  alone.  She 
dealt  quite  simply  with  him,  as  if  he  were  Mr. 
Travers  before  Mr.  Travers  was  human. 

She  came  into  his  library  every  morning  at 
ten  o'clock,  and  this  Julian,  looking  out  of  the 
window  or  at  Ostrog  or  at  the  ceiling,  dictated 
to  her  in  a  dry  voice,  slowly  and  distinctly,  the 
first  draft  of  a  chapter. 

Julian  had  never  worked  with  an  efficient 
woman  before,  and  Stella's  promptness  and 
prevision  surprised  him;  but  this  Julian  never 
showed  any  surprise.  He  did  the  work  he  had 
set  himself  to  do  from  the  notes  he  had  pre- 
pared before  she  came.  If  there  were  any 
facts  of  which  he  was  doubtful,  he  asked  her 
to  look  them  up,  telling  her  where  she  would 
be  likely  to  find  references  to  them.  Stella 
went  to  the  right  bookcase  by  a  kind  of  instinct, 

227 


228        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

placed  a  careful  hand  on  the  book,  and  found 
the  index  with  flying  fingers.  She  never  asked 
this  Julian  questions  or  troubled  him  with  her 
own  opinions.  She  carried  off  her  notes  with- 
out comment,  and  returned  them  to  him  care- 
fully typed  for  his  final  inspection  next  morn- 
ing. It  was  like  the  town  hall,  only  quieter. 

The  second  Julian  was  almost  like  a  friend. 
He  was  a  mischievous,  challenging  Julian,  who 
wouldn't  at  any  price  have  an  impersonal, 
carefully  drilled  secretary  beside  him,  but  who 
insisted  upon  Stella's  active  cooperation. 
They  discussed  the  chapter  from  every  point 
before  they  wrote  it.  This  Julian  demanded 
her  opinions ;  he  dragged  out  her  criticisms  and 
fought  them.  He  made  their  work  together 
a  perilous,  inspiriting  tug-of-war.  The  chap- 
ters that  resulted  from  this  cooperation  were 
by  far  the  most  interesting  in  the  book.  They 
even  interested  Julian. 

But  these  were  rare  days,  and  what  was 
most  curious  to  Stella  was  that  Julian,  who 
seemed  at  least  to  enjoy  them  as  much  as  she 
did,  should  appear  to  want  to  suppress  and 
curtail  them.  He  was  obviously  reluctant  to 
let  the  second  Julian  have  his  fling. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         229 

Stella  saw  the  third  Julian  only  in  the  even- 
ings. He  was  a  polite  and  courteous  host, 
stranger  to  Stella  than  either  of  the  others. 
He  was  always  on  his  guard,  as  if  he  feared 
that  either  of  the  watchful  women  who  wanted 
to  see  him  happy  might  think  he  was  happy 
or  might,  more  fatally  still,  treat  him  as  if  he 
were  unhappy. 

While  Stella  and  Lady  Verny  were  anx- 
iously watching  the  transformations  of  Julian, 
spring  came  to  Amberley.  It  came  very 
quietly,  in  a  cold,  green  visibility,  clothing  the 
chilly,  shivering  trees  in  splendor.  The 
hedges  shone  with  a  green  as  light  as  water, 
and  out  of  their  dried  brown  grasses  the  fields 
sprang  into  emerald.  The  streams  that  ran 
through  the  valley  fed  myriads  of  primroses. 
Stella  found  them  everywhere,  in  lonely 
copses,  in  high-shouldered  lanes,  or  growing 
like  pale  sunshine  underneath  the  willows. 

The  spring  was  young  and  fugitive  at  Am- 
berley; it  fled  before  its  own  promises,  and  hid 
behind  a  cloak  of  winter.  Dull  gray  days, 
cold  showers,  and  nipping  raw  down  winds  de- 
fied it,  and  for  weeks  the  earth  looked  as  hard 
as  any  stone;  but  still  the  green  leaves  un- 


230        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

sheathed  themselves,  and  the  birds  sang  tHeir 
truculent  triumphant  songs,  certain  of  vic- 
tory. 

Lady  Verny  spent  all  her  time  in  the  gar- 
den now,  watching  against  dangers,  prepar- 
ing for  new  births,  protecting  the  helpless,  and 
leaving  things  alone.  The  bulbs  were  up  and 
out  already;  crocus  and  daffodil,  hyacinth  and 
narcissus,  flooded  the  glades  and  glens.  Cro- 
cuses ran  like  a  flock  of  small  gold  flames  un- 
der the  dark  yew-hedges;  daffodils  streamed 
down  the  hillside  to  the  lakes,  looking  as  if 
they  meant  to  overtake  the  sailing  swans.  The 
willows  in  the  valley  had  apricot  and  pale-gold 
stems.  They  hung  shivering  over  the  lake 
like  a  race  of  phantom  lovers  searching  for 
their  lost  brides. 

Stella  never  saw  Julian  outdoors.  He  was 
always  interested  and  polite  about  the  garden, 
but  he  was  never  in  it.  He  did  not  seem  to 
want  to  see  things  grow.  She  did  not  know 
how  far  he  could  drag  himself  upon  his 
crutches,  and  it  gave  her  a  little  shock  of  sur- 
prise to  find  him  one  day  in  one  of  her  favorite 
haunts. 

It  was  outside  the  garden  altogether,  behind 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         231 

the  village  street.  A  sunk  lane  under  high 
hedges  led  to  a  solitary  farm.  One  of  the 
fields  on  the  way  to  it  overlooked  a  sheltered 
copse  of  silver  birches.  Julian  was  stretched 
at  full  length  under  the  hedge,  looking  down 
into  the  wood;  his  crutches  lay  beside  him. 
Under  the  silver  birches  the  ground  was  as 
blue  as  if  the  sky  had  sprung  up  out  of  the 
earth.  There  was  no  space  at  all  for  anything 
but  bluebells.  Far  away  in  the  valley  a  cuckoo 
called  its  first  compelling  notes. 

Julian's  face  was  set.  He  looked  through 
the  silver-and-blue  copse  as  if  it  were  not 
there;  his  eyes  held  a  tortured  universe. 

Stella  would  have  slipped  away  from  him 
unseen,  but  his  voice  checked  her. 

"Is  that  you,  Stella?"  he  asked  quietly. 
"Won't  you  come  and  sit  down  here  and  look 
at  this  damned  pretty  world  with  me?" 

His  voice  was  startlingly  bitter;  it  was  the 
first  time  that  he  had  used  her  name. 

She  came  to  him  quickly,  and  sat  down  be- 
side him,  motionless  and  alert.  She  knew  that 
this  was  yet  another  Julian,  and  an  instinct 
told  her  that  this  wTas  probably  the  real  one. 

He,  too,  said  nothing  for  a  moment ;  then  he 


232        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

began  to  speak  with  little  jerks  between  his 
sentences. 

"What  do  you  suppose,"  he  said,  "is  the 
idea?  You  know  what  I  mean?  You  saw 
the  papers  this  morning?  Have  you  ever  seen 
a  man  gassed  ?  I  did  once,  in  Wales — a  mine 
explosion.  We  got  to  the  fellows.  One  of 
them  was  dead,  and  one  was  mad,  and  one 
would  have  liked  to  be  mad  or  dead.  I  rather 
gather  that  about  two  or  three  thousand 
Canadians  were  gassed  near  Ypres.  They 
stood,  you  know, — stood  as  long  as  you  can 
stand, — gassed.  I  always  thought  that 
phrase,  'died  at  their  posts,'  misleading. 
There  aren't  any  posts,  for  one  thing,  and, 
then,  dying — well,  you  don't  die  quickly  from 
gas.  If  you  're  fairly  strong,  it 's  a  solid  per- 
formance, and  takes  at  the  least  several  hours. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  ought  n't  to  talk  to 
you  like  that.  Please  forgive  me  for  being 
such  a  brute.  On  such  a  lovely  morning,  too! 
Are  there  any  new  bulbs  up?  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  myself." 

"Julian—"  said  Stella. 

He  turned  his  head  quickly  and  looked  at 
her. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         233 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "what  is  it?" 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  not  to  talk  to 
me,"  Stella  said,  with  sudden  fierceness. 
"Does  n't  it  make  any  difference  to  you  that 
we  're  friends?" 

He  put  his  hand  over  hers. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  smiling;  "but  I  happen  to 
be  rather  afraid  of  differences." 

He  took  his  hand  away  as  quickly  as  he  had 
touched  her. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  asked  in  a  low  voice, 
"what  was  the  saddest  thing  I  ever  saw — the 
saddest  and  the  most  terrible?" 

"No,"  he  said,  turning  his  eyes  carefully 
back  to  the  silver  birches;  "but  I  have  an  idea 
that  it  was  something  that  happened  to  some- 
body else." 

"Yes,"  said  Stella;  "it  happened  to  a  sea- 
gull. It  was  the  only  time  I  ever  went  to  the 
sea.  Eurydice  had  been  ill,  and  I  went  away 
with  her.  I  think  I  was  fourteen.  I  had  gone 
out  alone  after  tea  on  to  the  cliffs  when  I  saw 
a  motionless  sea-gull  at  the  very  edge.  I 
walked  close  up  to  it.  It  was  as  still  as  a  stone, 
and  when  I  came  up,  O  Julian,  one  of  its 
wings  was  broken!  It  could  not  fly  agaku 


234        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Its  eyes  were  searching  the  sea  with  such 
despair  in  them ;  it  knew  it  could  not  fly  again. 
I  picked  it  up  and  carried  it  home.  We  did 
everything  we  could  for  it,  but  it  died — like 
that,  without  ever  changing  the  despair  in  its 
eyes — because  it  could  not  fly." 

"Lucky  brute  to  be  able  to  die,"  said  Julian 
under  his  breath.  Stella  said  nothing. 
"Why  did  you  tell  me?"  he  asked  after  a  pause. 
"Any  lesson  attached  to  it?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  're  not  crying?"  he  asked  suspiciously. 
Then  he  looked  at  her.  She  was  sitting  very 
still,  biting  her  lips  to  keep  her  tears  back. 

"You  really  must  n't,  Stella!"  he  urged  in  a 
queer,  soft  voice  she  had  never  heard  him  use 
before.  "I  'm  not  a  sea-gull  and  I  'm  not  dy- 
ing, and  I  'm  not  even  a  stone." 

"No,"  she  whispered,  "but  you  're  just  like 
the  sea-gull:  you  won't  share  your  pain." 

"Look  here,"  said  Julian,  "I — you — 
Would  you  mind  sitting  on  that  log  over 
there, — it's  quite  dry, — just  opposite? 
Thanks.  Now  I  can  talk  more  easily.  I  want 
you  to  remember  that  I  'm  a  million  times  better 
off  than  most  people.  What  troubles  me  is  n't 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        235 

what  the  vicar  calls  my  affliction.  I  'm  rather 
proud  of  what  I  'm  able  to  do  with  a  pair  of 
crutches  in  six  months.  It 's  being  out  of  it ; 
that 's  what  set  me  off  on  those  Canadian 
chaps.  I  miss  the  idea  that  I  might  be  in  that 
kind  of  thing,  rather.  You  see,  I  feel  quite 
well.  I  '11  settle  down  to  it  in  time,  and  I 
won't  shut  you  out,  if  you  '11  remember  not 
to  let  me — you  're  most  awfully  innocent, 
aren't  you?  D'  you  mind  telling  me  how  old 
you  are?" 

"Twenty-eight,"  said  Stella.  "But  I'm 
not  really  innocent.  I  think  I  know  all  the 
horrible  things." 

Julian  laughed  ruefully.  "You  wouldn't 
see  them  coming  though,"  he  said;  "and,  be- 
sides, the  things  that  aren't  innocent  are  by 
no  means  always  horrible.  However,  that 's 
not  what  I  was  going  to  say.  If  we  're  to  be 
friends  at  all,  and  it 's  not  particularly  easy 
even  for  me  to  live  in  the  same  house  with  you 
and  not  be  friends,  you'll  have  to  help  me 
pretty  considerably." 

"How  shall  I  help  you?"  'Stella  asked 
eagerly.  "I  have  wanted  to,  you  know.  I 
mean  that  I  did  sometimes  think  you  wanted 


236        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

to  be  friends — as  Mr.  Travers  did  when  he 
tried  to  become  human  because  his  cat  died. 
I  have  n't  told  you  about  that ;  it  made  him  see 
bow  important  it  was.  And  when  you  did  n't 
want  to  be  friendly,  I  tried  not  to  bother  you ; 
I  just  went  on  with  the  work.  That  was  the 
best  way,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Julian,  carefully.  "You  did 
the  work  uncommonly  well,  my  dear,  and  you 
never  bothered  me  in  that  way.  I  'm  afraid 
I  don't  quite  follow  Mr.  Travers.  I  suppose 
he  is  the  town  clerk,  is  n't  he?  He  may  have 
meant  the  same  thing  that  I  do;  but  I  should 
have  thought  it  would  have  been — well — sim- 
pler for  him.  I  don't  know  how  to  explain  to 
you  what  I  mean.  You  remember  Marian?" 
Stella  nodded.  "I  came  a  cropper  over 
Marian,"  Julian  explained.  "She  behaved 
extraordinarily  well.  No  one  could  possi- 
bly blame  her;  but  she  wasn't  exactly  the 
kind  of  woman  I  'd  banked  on,  and  I  had 
banked  on  her  pretty  heavily.  When  I  saw 
my  mistake,  I  understood  that  I  wasn't  fit 
for  marriage,  and  I  became  reconciled  to  it. 
I  mean  I  accepted  the  idea  thoroughly.  It 
would  be  tying  a  woman  to  a  log.  But  I  don't 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         237 

want  to  start  feeling  just  yet — any  kind  of 
feeling.  Even  nice,  mild,  pitying  friendship 
like  yours  stings.  D'  you  understand?" 

"I  'm  not  mild  and  I  'm  not  pitying,"  said 
Stella,  quietly.  "And  you  don't  only  shut  me 
out;  you  shut  out  everybody.  Why,  you 
won't  even  let  yourself  go  over  your  old  polar 
bears  in  the  book!" 

"I  can't  afford  to  let  myself  go,"  said  Julian, 
"even  to  the  extent  of  a  polar  bear — with 
you." 

"Just  because  I  'm  a  woman  ?"  asked  Stella, 
regretfully. 

"If  you  like,  you  may  put  it  that  way,'* 
agreed  Julian ;  "and  as  to  the  rest  of  the  world, 
it 's  very  busy  just  at  present  fighting  Ger- 
mans. All  the  men  I  like  are  either  dead  or 
will  be  soon.  What 's  the  use  of  getting  'em 
down  here  to  look  at  a  broken  sign-post?  I  'd 
rather  keep  to  myself  till  I  've  got  going.  I 
will  get  going  again,  and  you  '11  help  me,  if 
you  '11  try  to  remember  what  I  Ve  just  told 
you." 

"Oh,  I  shall  remember  it,"  replied  Stella, 
hurriedly;  "only  I  don't  quite  know  what  it  is. 
Still,  I  dare  say,  if  I  think  it  over,  I  shall  find 


238        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

out.  At  any  rate,  I  'm  very,  very  glad  you  'II 
let  me  help  you.  Of  course  I  think  you  're  all 
wrong  about  the  other  men.  You  think  too 
much  of  the  outside  of  things.  I  dare  say  it 's 
better  than  thinking  too  little,  as  we  do  in  our 
family.  Besides,  you  have  such  a  lovely  house 
and  live  so  tidily.  Still,  I  think  it 's  a  mistake. 
The  men  wouldn't  see  your  crutches  half  as 
much  as  they  'd  see  you.  The  things  that  mat- 
ter most  are  always  behind  what  anybody  sees. 
Even  all  this  beauty  is  n't  half  as  beautiful  as 
what 's  behind  it — the  spirit  of  the  life  that 
creates  it,  and  brings  it  back  again." 

"And  the  ugliness,"  asked  Julian,  steadily, 
— "the  ugliness  we  Ve  just  been  talking  about 
over  there,  that  long  line  of  it  cutting  through 
France  like  a  mortal  wound,  drawing  the  life- 
blood  of  Europe, — what 's  behind  that?" 

"Don't  you  see?"  she  cried,  leaning  toward 
him  eagerly.  "Exactly  the  same  thing — life! 
All  this  quietness  that  reproduces  what  it  takes 
away,  only  always  more  beautifully.  Don't 
you  think,  while  we  see  here  the  passing  of  the 
great  procession  of  spring,  behind  in  the  in- 
visible, where  their  poured-out  souls  have 
rushed  to,  is  a  greater  procession  still,  forming 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         239 

for  us  to  join?  That  even  the  ugliness  is  only 
an  awful  way  out  into  untouched  beauty,  like 
a  winter  storm  that  breaks  the  ground  up  for 
the  seed  to  grow?" 

"I  can  see  that  you  see  it,"  said  Julian, 
gently.  "I  can't  see  anything  else  just  now. 
You  'd  better  cut  along  back  to  the  house ; 
you  '11  be  late  for  lunch.  Tell  my  mother  I  'm 
not  coming — and — and  try  not  to  think  I  'm 
horrid  if  I  'm  not  always  friendly  with  you. 
I  sha'n't  be  so  unfriendly  as  I  sound." 

"I  don't  believe  you  know,"  said  Stella,  con- 
sideringly, "how  very  nice  I  always  think 
you — " 

"That,"  said  Julian,  "happens  to  be  exactly 
one  of  the  things  you  'd  better  refrain  from 
telling  me.  Good-by." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IT  is  always  hard  to  return  in  the  character 
of  a  captive  to  a  scene  in  which  you  have 
played  the  part  of  victor,  and  Julian  had  told 
the  truth  to  Stella  when  he  said  that  what 
stung  him  most  was  his  new  relation  to  women. 
Men  knew  what  he  had  done;  many  of  them 
were  facing  the  same  odds.  They  had  a  com- 
mon experience  and  a  common  language  to  fall 
back  upon.  They  were  his  mates,  but  they  did 
not  come  near  enough  to  him  to  hurt  him ;  they 
had  no  wish  to  understand  or  help  his  suffer- 
ings. It  was  sufficient  for  them  to  say,  "Hard 
luck !"  and  leave  that  side  of  it  alone.  Women 
were  different :  he  had  pursued  women. 

Julian  had  a  good  average  reputation. 
Very  few  women  attracted  him  beyond  a  cer- 
tain point;  but  all  his  experiences  had  been 
successes. 

He  had  loved  Marian  with  the  best  love  his 
heart  had  known;  but  it  had  been  the  love  of 

240 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        241 

Marian  as  a  creature  to  possess.  It  had  not 
been  an  invasion  of  his  personality.  He  would 
have  given  anything  to  possess  Marian ;  he  had 
not  been  for  a  moment  possessed  by  her.  It 
did  not  seem  to  Julian  that  a  woman  could  ever 
do  more  than  charm  a  man. 

She  could  charm  you,  if  you  let  her,  to  dis- 
traction; but  if  you  had  any  strength,  you  re- 
mained intact.  Nothing  in  you  moved  to 
meet  her  charm.  You  simply,  not  to  put  too 
fine  a  point  upon  it,  took  what  you  could  get. 
Naturally,  if  you  could  no  longer  let  a  woman 
charm  you,  she  became,  if  she  was  n't  merely 
a  nuisance,  a  menace. 

Julian  acquiesced  in  Stella's  remaining  as 
his  secretary  only  because  he  had  a  theory  that 
she  did  not  charm  him.  He  could  not  make 
head  or  tail  of  her.  He  recognized  that  she 
had  a  mind,  but  it  was  a  perplexing  and  un- 
challenging  mind,  a  private  enjoyment  of  her 
own.  She  never  attempted  to  attract  Julian 
by  it.  If  he  stirred  her,  she  ran  off  like  a  poet 
or  a  bird,  upon  her  subject.  She  did  not,  as 
Julian  supposed  all  women  did,  put  Julian 
himself  at  the  other  end  of  her  subject. 

She  had  attractions :  sympathy,  wit,  a  charm- 


242        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

ing,  fugitive  smile.  She  arranged  them  no 
better  than  she  arranged  her  hair;  and  it  was 
lamentable  how  she  arranged  her  hair. 

Julian  could  not  have  borne  her  constant 
presence  if  she  had  not  effaced  herself ;  his  bit- 
ter self -consciousness  would  have  been  up  in 
arms  against  an  effective  personality  at  his 
elbow.  Nevertheless,  he  was  obscurely  an- 
noyed that  Stella  made  no  attempt  to  impress 
him.  She  would  sit  there  morning  after 
morning  without  looking  at  him,  without  no- 
ticing him,  without  the  lift  of  an  eyelid  to  make 
him  feel  that  he  was  anything  to  her  but  the 
supply  of  copy  for  his  chapter.  She  was  as 
inhuman  and  unpretentious  as  a  piece  of  moss 
on  a  wall. 

But  her  voice  haunted  him;  he  would  catch 
snatches  of  her  talk  with  Lady  Verny  in  the 
garden.  His  mother  had  no  scruple  against 
intimacy  with  Stella,  and  Stella  was  not  docile 
with  Lady  Verny;  she  was  enchanting.  She 
had  a  tantalizing  voice  full  of  music,  with  little 
gusts  of  mischief  and  revolt  in  it. 

Julian  told  himself  that  he  must  put  up  with 
Stella  for  his  mother's  sake.  Lady  Verny  did 
not  make  friends  easily,  and  liked  bookworms. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        243 

He  dismissed  Stella  as  a  bookworm.  She  had 
ways  that,  he  told  himself,  were  intensely  an- 
noying. She  came  punctually  to  her  work, — 
probably  the  poor  town  clerk  had  taught  her 
that  much, — but  she  had  no  other  punctualities. 
Bells,  meals,  the  passage  of  time,  had  no  land- 
marks for  her.  She  seemed  to  drift  along  the 
hours  like  a  leaf  upon  a  stream. 

She  was  disorderly:  she  left  things  about; 
books  face  downward,  scraps  of  paper,  flowers. 
She  was  always  saying  that  she  had  lost  her 
fountain-pen.  She  did  n't  say  this  to  Julian, 
but  he  heard  her  say  it  to  Ostrog,  whom  she  ac- 
cused outrageously  of  having  eaten  it,  to  all 
the  servants,  and  to  his  mother.  None  of  them 
seemed  to  mind,  not  even  Ostrog. 

Ostrog's  growls  had  ceased.  He  slept  in 
Stella's  presence,  uneasily,  with  half  a  red  eye 
upon  her ;  but  he  slept. 

After  a  few  days  he  chose  a  position  close 
to  her  feet  and  slept  solidly,  with  snores; 
finally  he  took  her  out  for  walks.  Julian  ap- 
proved of  this,  since  she  would  go  all  over  the 
place  by  herself,  hatless,  and  looking  like  a 
tramp,  it  was  as  well  she  should  be  accom- 
panied by  Ostrog. 


244        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Ostrog  had  never  before  been  known  to  go 
for  walks  with  any  one  except  Julian.  He 
took  plenty  of  exercise  independently  of  hu- 
man control  in  the  direction  of  rabbits. 

Stella  was  extremely  wasteful  with  writing- 
paper.  Over  and  over  again  Julian  saw  her 
throw  half  a  sheet,  white  and  untouched,  into 
the  waste-paper  basket ;  and  she  cut  string.  It 
was  curious  how  little  Julian  felt  annoyed  by 
these  depredations,  considering  how  much  he 
wished  to  be  annoyed.  He  was  not  by  nature 
economical,  but  he  lashed  himself  into  imag- 
inary rages  with  Stella,  and  told  her  that  she 
must  once  for  all  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  She 
was  quite  meek  about  it,  and  next  time  she  lost 
her  fountain-pen  she  went  into  the  village  and 
bought  a  new  one  which  would  n't  write.  She 
paid  for  it  with  her  own  money,  and  Julian 
wanted  to  box  her  ears.  He  subsequently 
found  the  other  one  on  the  rack  where  he  kept 
his  pipes. 

For  some  time  he  believed  that  she  was  not 
provocative  because  she  was  negligible.  She 
was  one  of  those  clever  neutral  women  who 
have  n't  the  wit  to  be  attractive. 

Then  one  day  it  flashed  across  him  that  for 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         245 

all  her  mild  agreement  with  his  wishes,  her 
spirit  never  for  one  instant  surrendered  to 
him.  It  did  not  even  think  of  escaping;  it  was 
free. 

This  startled  Julian.  He  liked  evasive 
women,  but  he  had  thought  Stella  extraor- 
dinarily the  opposite.  She  was  as  frank  as  a 
boy.  But  was  this  frankness  merely  because 
she  was  dealing  with  what  was  non-essential  to 
her?  He  tried  to  make  her  talk;  he  succeeded 
perfectly. 

Stella  would  talk  about  anything  he  liked. 
She  enjoyed  talking.  She  made  Julian  en- 
joy it;  and  then  he  found  that  he  had  arrived 
nowhere.  She  gave  him  her  talk,  as  she  gave 
him  her  attention,  exactly  as  she  would  have 
got  up  and  handed  him  a  book  if  he  had  asked 
for  it.  There  was  no  more  of  herself  in  it  than 
in  the  simplest  of  her  services. 

Julian  was  not  sure  when  it  was  that  he  dis- 
covered that  he  had  a  new  feeling  about  her, 
which  was  even  more  disconcerting  than  her  in- 
dependence ;  it  was  anxiety. 

Perhaps  it  was  during  the  extremely  slow 
and  tiresome  week-end  on  which  Stella  paid  a 
visit  to  her  family.  She  went  without  her  um- 


246        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

brella, — not  that  it  would  have  done  much  good 
if  she  had  taken  it,  for  Julian  found,  to  his  ex- 
treme vexation,  that  it  was  full  of  holes, — the 
weather  was  atrocious,  and  she  came  back  with 
a  cold. 

It  might  have  been  gathered  that  no  one  at 
.Amberley  had  ever  had  a  cold  before.  As  far 
as  Julian  was  concerned  nobody  ever  had. 

Julian  possessed  a  sane  imagination,  and 
generally  treated  the  subject  of  health  with  a 
mixture  of  common  sense  and  indifference. 
But  this  cold  of  Stella's! 

It  was  no  good  Stella's  saying  it  was  a  slight 
cold;  he  forced  her  to  take  a  list  of  remedies 
suitable  for  severe  bronchitis.  He  quarreled 
with  his  mother  for  saying  that  people  had  been 
known  to  recover  from  colds,  and  finally  he 
sent  for  the  doctor. 

The  doctor,  being  a  wise  man  with  a  poor 
country  practice,  agreed  with  Julian  that  you 
could  not  be  too  careful  about  colds,  and 
thought  that  priceless  old  port  taken  with  her 
meals  would  not  do  Miss  Waring  any  harm. 

Stella  disliked  port  very  much,  but  she 
drank  it  submissively  for  a  week. 

"Nobody  can  call  me  fussy,"  Julian  an- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        247 

nounced  sternly,  "but  I  will  not  have  a  neg- 
lected cold  in  the  house." 

He  was  not  contradicted,  though  everybody 
knew  that  for  weeks  the  cook  and  two  house- 
maids had  been  sneezing  about  the  passages. 

It  was  a  strange  feeling,  this  sharp  compul- 
sion of  fear.  It  taught  Julian  something.  It 
taught  him  that  what  happened  to  Stella  hap- 
pened to  himself.  He  no  longer  thought  of 
pursuit  in  connection  with  her.  He  had  found 
her  in  his  heart. 

It  was  an  extremely  awkward  fact,  but  he 
accepted  it.  After  all,  he  had  crushed  pas- 
sions before  which  had  gone  against  his  code. 
He  had  iron  self-control,  and  he  thought  it 
would  be  quite  possible  to  stamp  out  this  fancy 
before  it  got  dangerous,  even  while  he  retained 
her  presence. 

He  could  n't  remain  friendly  to  her,  but  he 
could  be  civil  enough.  He  tried  this  process. 
For  nine  days  it  worked  splendidly.  Of 
course  Stella  did  n't  like  it,  but  it  worked. 
She  had  too  much  sense  to  ask  him  what  was 
the  matter,  but  she  looked  wistful.  On  the 
tenth  she  cut  her  finger  sharpening  a  pencil, 
and  Julian  called  her  "Darling."  Fortu- 


248        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

nately  she  did  n't  hear  him,  and  he  managed  to 
bandage  her  finger  up  without  losing  his  head ; 
but  he  knew  that  it  had  been  an  uncommonly 
near  shave,  and  if  she  hurt  herself  again,  he 
was  n't  at  all  sure  how  he  would  stand  it. 

Love  flooded  him  like  a  rising  tide;  all  his 
landmarks  became  submerged.  He  could  not 
tell  how  far  the  tide  would  spread.  He  clung 
to  Stella's  faults  with  positive  vindictiveness 
despite  the  fact  that  he  had  surprised  himself 
smiling  over  them.  He  dared  not  let  himself 
think  about  her  qualities.  The  one  support 
left  to  him  was  her  own  unconsciousness.  He 
need  n't  tell  her,  and  she  would  n't  guess ;  and 
as  long  as  she  did  n't  know,  he  could  keep  her. 
If  she  did  know,  she  would  have  to  go  away; 
even  if  she  didn't  want  to  go,  as  she  most 
probably  would,  he  would  have  to  send  her 
away.  He  became  as  watchful  of  himself  as 
he  had  been  when  his  life  depended  on  every 
word  he  said;  but  he  could  not  help  his  eyes. 
When  other  people  were  there  he  did  not  look 
at  Stella  at  aU. 

It  was  the  first  day  Stella  had  been  late  for 
her  work,  and  Julian  had  prepared  to  be  ex- 
tremely angry  until  he  saw  her  face.  She 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         249 

came  slowly  toward  the  open  window  out  of 
the  garden,  looking  oddly  drawn  and  white. 
The  pain  in  her  eyes  hurt  Julian  intolerably. 

"Hullo!"  he  said  quickly,  "what's  wrong?" 

She  did  not  answer  at  once ;  her  hands  trem- 
bled. She  was  holding  a  letter,  face  down- 
ward, as  if  she  hated  holding  it. 

"Your  mother  asked  me  to  tell  you  myself," 
she  began.  "I  am  afraid  to  tell  you;  but  she 
seemed  to  think  you  would  rather — 

"Yes,"  said  Julian,  quickly.  "Are  you  go- 
ing away?" 

"Oh,  no,"  whispered  Stella.  "If  it  was  only 
that!" 

Julian  said,  "Ah!"  It  was  an  exclamation 
that  sounded  like  relief.  He  leaned  back  in 
his  chair,  and  did  nothing  further  to  help  her. 

Stella  moved  restlessly  about  the  room. 
She  had  curious  graceful  movements  like  a 
wild  creature ;  she  became  awkward  only  when 
she  knew  she  was  expected  to  behave  properly. 
Finally  she  paused,  facing  a  bookcase,  with 
her  back  to  Julian. 

"Well?"  asked  Julian,  encouragingly. 
"Better  get  it  over,  had  n't  we?  World  come 
to  pieces  worse  than  usual  this  morning?" 


250        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you,"  she  said 
wretchedly.  "For  you  perhaps  it  has — I  have 
heard  from  Marian." 

Julian  picked  up  his  pipe,  which  he  had  al- 
lowed to  go  out  when  Stella  came  in,  relit  it, 
and  smiled  at  the  back  of  her  head.  He  looked 
extraordinarily  amused  and  cheerful. 

"She  had  n't  written  to  me,"  Stella  went  on 
without  turning  round,  "for  ages  and  ages, — 
you  remember  I  told  you? — and  now  she  has." 

"She  was  always  an  uncertain  correspond- 
ent," said  Julian,  smoothly.  "Am  I  to  see 
this  letter?  Message  for  me,  perhaps?  Or 
does  n't  she  know  you  're  here?" 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Stella,  quickly.  "I  mean 
there 's  nothing  in  it  you  could  n't  see,  of 
course.  There  is  a  kind  of  message;  still,  she 
did  n't  mean  you  actually  to  see  it.  She  heard 
somehow  that  I  was  here,  and  she  wanted  me 
to  tell  you — "  Stella's  voice  broke,  but  she 
picked  herself  up  and  went  on,  jerking  out 
the  cruel  words  that  shook  her  to  the  heart, — 
"she  wanted  me  to  tell  you  that  she  's — she  's 
going  to  be  married." 

Stella  heard  a  curious  sound  from  Julian  in- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         251 

credibly  like  a  chuckle.  She  flinched,  and 
held  herself  away  from  him.  He  would  not 
want  her  to  see  how  he  suffered.  There  was  a 
long  silence. 

"Stella,"  said  Julian  at  last  in  that  singular, 
soft,  new  voice  of  his  that  he  occasionally  used 
when  they  were  alone  together,  "the  ravages  of 
pain  are  now  hidden.  You  can  turn  round." 

She  came  back  to  him  uncertainly,  and  sat 
down  by  the  window  at  his  feet.  He  had  a 
tender  teasing  look  that  she  could  not  quite 
understand.  His  eyes  themselves  never  wa- 
vered as  they  met  hers,  but  the  eagerness  in 
them  wavered;  his  tenderness  seemed  to  hold 
it  back. 

She  thought  that  Julian's  eyes  had  grown 
curiously  friendly  lately.  Despite  his  pain, 
they  were  very  friendly  now. 

"Any  details?"  Julian  asked.  "Don' t  be 
afraid  to  tell  me.  I  'm  not — I  mean  I  'm 
quite  prepared  for  it." 

"It 's  to  be  next  month,"  she  said  hurriedly. 
"She  didn't  want  you  to  see  it  first  in  the  pa- 
pers." 

"Awfully  considerate  of  her,  was  n't  it?"  in- 


252        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

terrupted  Julian.  "By  the  by,  tell  her  when 
you  write  that  she  could  n't  have  chosen  any- 
body better  to  break  it  to  me  than  you." 

"O  Julian,"  Stella  pleaded,  "please  don't 
laugh  at  me!  Do  if  it  makes  you  any  easier, 
of  course;  only  I — I  mind  so  horribly!" 

"Do  you?"  asked  Julian,  carefully.  "I 
think  I  'm  rather  glad  you  mind,  but  you 
mustn't  mind  horribly;  only  as  much  as  a 
friend  should  mind  for  another  friend." 

"That  is  the  way  I  mind,"  said  Stella. 

She  had  a  large  interpretation  of  friendship. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  Julian,  rather  crossly. 
"Goon!" 

"She  says  it 's  a  Captain  Edmund  Stanley, 
and  he  's  a  D.S.O.  They  're  to  be  married 
very  quietly  while  he  's  on  leave." 

"Lucky  man !"  said  Julian.     "Any  money  ?" 

"Oh,  I  think  so,"  murmured  Stella,  anx- 
iously skipping  the  letter  in  her  lap.  "She 
says  he  's  fairly  well  off." 

"I  think,"  observed  Julian,  "that  we  may 
take  it  that  if  Marian  says  Captain  Stanley  is 
fairly  well  off,  his  means  need  give  us  no  anx- 
iety. What?" 

"Julian,  must  you  talk  like  that?"  Stella 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        253 

pleaded.  "You  '11  make  it  so  hard  for  your- 
self if  you  're  bitter." 

"On  the  whole,  I  think  I  must,"  replied  Ju- 
lian, reflectively.  "If  I  talked  differently,  you 
might  n't  like  it ;  and,  anyhow,  I  dare  n't  run 
the  risk.  I  might  break  down,  you  know,  and 
you  would  n't  like  that,  would  you?  Shall  we 
get  to  work?" 

"Oh,  not  this  morning!"  Stella  cried.  "I  'm 
going  out ;  I  knew  you  would  n't  want  me." 

"Did  you  though?"  asked  Julian.  "But  I 
happen  to  want  you  most  particularly.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  He  had  a 
peculiarly  teasing  expression  which  did  not 
seem  appropriate  to  extreme  grief. 

"I  '11  stay,  of  course,  if  you  want  me,"  she 
said  quietly. 

"You  're  a  very  kind  little  elf,"  said  Julian, 
"but  I  don't  think  you  must  make  a  precedent 
of  my  wanting  you,  or  else — look  here,  d'  you 
mind  telling  me  a  few  things  about  your — your 
friendship  with  Marian?" 

Stella's  face  cleared.  She  saw  now  why  he 
wanted  her  to  stay.  She  turned  her  eyes  back 
to  the  garden. 


254         THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"I  '11  tell  you  anything  you  like  to  know," 
she  answered. 

"You  liked  her?"  asked  Julian. 

"She  was  so  different  from  everybody  else 
in  my  world,"  Stella  explained.  "I  don't 
think  I  judged  her;  I  just  admired  her.  She 
was  awfully  good  to  me.  I  didn't  see  her 
very  often,  but  it  was  all  the  brightness  of  my 
life." 

"Stella,  you  Ve  never  told  me  about  your 
life,"  Julian  said  irrelevantly.  "Will  you 
some  day?  I  want  to  know  about  the  town 
hall  and  that  town  clerk  fellow." 

"There  isn't  anything  to  tell  you,"  said 
Stella.  "I  mean  about  that,  and  Marian  was 
never  in  my  life.  She  could  n't  have  been,  you 
know;  but  she  was  my  special  dream.  I  used 
to  love  to  hear  about  all  her  experiences  and  her 
friends ;  and  then — do  you  remember  the  night 
of  Chaliapine's  opera?  It  was  the  only  opera 
I  ever  went  to,  so  of  course  I  remember;  but 
perhaps  you  don't.  You  were  there  with  Ma- 
rian. I  think  I  knew  then — " 

"Knew  what?"  asked  Julian,  leaning  for- 
ward a  little.  "You  seem  awfully  interested 
in  that  gravel  path,  Stella?" 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         255 

"Knew,"  she  said,  without  turning  her  head, 
"what  you  meant  to  her." 

"Where  were  you?"  Julian  inquired. 
"Looking  down  from  the  ceiling  or  up  from  a 
hole  in  the  ground,  where  the  good  people  come 
from?  I  never  saw  you." 

"Ah,  you  wouldn't,"  said  Stella.  "I  was 
in  the  gallery.  Do  you  remember  the  music?" 

"Russian  stuff,"  Julian  said.  "Pack  of  peo- 
ple going  into  a  fire,  yes.  Funnily  enough, 
I  've  thought  of  it  since,  more  than  once,  too ; 
but  I  did  n't  know  you  were  there." 

"And  then  when  you  were  hurt,"  Stella  went 
on  in  a  low  voice,  "Marian  told  me.  Julian, 
she  did  mind  frightfully.  I  always  wanted 
you  to  know  that  she  did  mind." 

"It  altered  her  plans,  didn't  it,"  said  Ju- 
lian, "quite  considerably?" 

"You  've  no  business  to  talk  like  that!"  said 
Stella,  angrily.  "It 's  not  fair — or  kind." 

"And  does  it  matter  to  you  whether  I  'm 
fair  or  kind?"  Julian  asked,  with  deadly  cool- 
ness. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Stella,  quickly. 
"Of  course  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  me.  I 
have  no  right  to — to  mind  what  you  say." 


256        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"I  'm  glad  you  recognize  that,"  said  Ju- 
lian, quietly.  "It  facilitates  our  future  inter- 
course. And  you  agreed  with  Marian  that  she 
only  did  her  duty  in  painstakingly  adhering  to 
her  given  word?  Perhaps  you  encouraged  her 
to  do  it?  The  inspiration  sounds  quite  like 
yours." 

She  looked  at  him  now. 

"Julian,"  she  said,  "am  I  all  wrong?  Would 
you  rather  that  we  weren't  friends  at  all? 
You  are  speaking  as  if  you  hated  me." 

"No,  I  'm  not,"  he  said  quickly,  "you  little 
goose !  How  could  I  keep  you  here  if  I  hated 
you?  Have  a  little  sense.  No,  don't  put  your 
hand  there,  because,  if  you  do,  I  shall  take  it, 
and  I  'm  rather  anxious  just  now  not  to.  You 
shall  go  directly  you  've  answered  me  this. 
Did  you  agree  with  Marian's  point  of  view 
about  me  ?  You  know  what  it  was,  don't  you  ? 
She  didn't  love  me  any  more;  she  wished  I 
had  been  killed,  and  she  decided  to  stick  to  me. 
She  thought  I  'd  be  grateful.  Do  you  think  I 
ought  to  have  been  grateful?" 

"You  know  I  don't!  You  know  I  don't!" 
cried  Stella.  "But  why  do  you  make  me  say 
it?  I  simply  hated  it — hated  her  not  seeing, 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         257 

not  caring  enough  to  see,  not  caring  enough  to 
make  you  see.  There!  Is  that  all  you 
wanted  me  to  say?" 

"Practically,"  said  Julian,  "but  I  don't  see 
why  you  should  fly  into  a  rage  over  it.  In 
your  case,  then,  if  it  had  heen  your  case,  you 
would  simply  have  broken  off  the  engagement 
at  once,  like  a  sensible  girl?" 

"I  can't  imagine  myself  in  such  a  situation," 
said  Stella,  getting  up  indignantly. 

"Naturally,"  interposed  Julian  smoothly. 
"But,  still,  if  you  had  happened,  by  some 
dreadful  mischance,  to  find  yourself  engaged 
to  me—" 

"I  should  have  broken  it  off  directly,"  said 
Stella,  turning  to  go — "directly  I  found  out — " 

"Found  out  what?"  asked  Julian. 

"That  you  were  nothing  but  a  cold-blooded 
tease !"  cried  Stella  over  her  shoulder. 

"You  perfect  darling!"  said  Julian  under 
his  breath.  "By  Jove!  that  was  a  narrow 
squeak!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IT  puzzled  Stella  extremely  that  she  found 
herself  unable  to  say,  "What  is  it  that  you 
want,  Julian?"  She  knew  that  there  was 
something  that  he  wanted,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing that  she  would  dream  of  denying  him. 
What,  therefore,  could  be  simpler  than  asking 
him?  And  yet  she  did  not  want  to  ask  him. 

She  began  by  trying  hard  to  understand 
what  it  was  that  he  had  told  her  above  the 
bluebell  wood,  because  she  thought  if  she  dis- 
covered what  he  wanted  then,  the  rest  would 
follow.  He  had  wanted  a  particular  kind  of 
help  from  her;  that  was  plain.  It  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  her  being  a  woman ;  that  was 
plainer.  But  was  it  to  his  advantage  or  to  his 
disadvantage  that  she  was  a  woman?  Ought 
she  to  suppress  the  fact  or  build  on  it?  And 
how  could  she  build  on  it  or  suppress  it  when 
she  never  felt  in  the  least  like  anything  else  but 
a  woman? 

258 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         259 

Cicely  used  to  say  that  the  only  safe  way 
with  men  was  never  to  be  nice  to  them;  but 
Stella  had  always  thought  any  risk  was  bet- 
ter than  such  a  surly  plan.  Besides,  Julian 
could  n't  mean  that.  He  liked  her  to  be  nice 
to  him.  She  saw  quite  plainly  that  he  liked 
her  to  be  nice  to  him. 

Unfortunately,  Julian  had  taken  for 
granted  in  Stella  a  certain  experience  of  life, 
and  Stella  had  never  had  any  such  experience. 
She  had  never  once  recognized  fancy  in  the 
eyes  of  any  man.  As  for  love,  it  belonged 
solely  to  her  dreams;  and  the  dreams  of  a 
woman  of  twenty-eight,  unharassed  by  fact, 
are  singularly  unreliable.  She  thought  of  Mr. 
Travers,  but  he  did  not  count.  She  had  never 
been  able  to  realize  what  he  had  felt  for  her. 
Her  relation  to  him  was  as  formal,  despite  his 
one  singular  lapse,  as  that  of  a  passenger  to  a 
ticket-collector.  She  had  nothing  to  go  on  but 
her  dreams. 

In  her  very  early  youth  she  had  selected  for 
heroes  two  or  three  characters  from  real  life. 
They  were  Cardinal  Newman,  Shelley,  and 
General  Gordon.  Later,  on  account  of  a  dif- 
ference in  her  religious  opinions,  she  had  re- 


260        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

placed  the  Cardinal  by  Charles  Lamb.  None 
of  these  characters  was  in  the  least  like  Ju- 
lian. 

One  had  apparently  no  experience  of 
women,  the  other  two  had  sisters,  and  Shelley's 
expression  of  love  was  vague  and  might  be  said 
to  be  misleading. 

She  met  me,  robed  in  such  exceeding  glory, 
That  I  beheld  her  not. 

Life  had  unfortunately  refused  to  meet 
Shelley  on  the  same  terms,  and  difficulties  had 
ensued,  but  it  was  this  impracticable  side  of 
him  that  Stella  had  accepted.  She  had 
skipped  Harriet,  and  landed  on  "Epipsychid- 
ion."  Love  was  to  her  "a  green  and  golden 
immortality."  She  was  not  disturbed  by  it, 
because  the  deepest  experiences  of  life  do  not 
disturb  us.  What  disturbs  us  is  that  which 
calls  us  away  from  them. 

It  made  it  easier  to  wait  to  find  out  what 
Julian  wanted  that  he  was  happier  with  her. 
He  was  hardly  ever  impersonal  or  cold  now, 
and  he  sometimes  made  reasons  to  be  with  her 
that  had  nothing  to  do  with  their  work. 

It  was  June,  and  the  daffodils  had  gone,  but 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        261 

there  were  harebells  and  blue  butterflies  upon 
the  downs,  and  in  the  hedges  wild  roses  and 
Star  of  Bethlehem.  Lady  Verny  spent  all  her 
time  in  the  garden.  She  said  the  slugs  alone 
took  hours.  They  were  supposed  by  the  un- 
initiated to  be  slow,  but  express  trains  could 
hardly  do  more  damage  in  less  time.  So  Stella 
and  Ostrog  took  their  walks  alone,  and  were 
frequently  intercepted  by  Julian  on  their  re- 
turn. 

Julian,  who  ought  to  have  known  better, 
thought  that  the  situation  might  go  on  indefi- 
nitely, and  Stella  did  not  know  that  there  was 
any  situation ;  she  knew  only  that  she  was  in  a 
new  world.  There  was  sorrow  outside  it,  there 
was  sorrow  even  in  her  heart  for  those  outside 
it;  but  through  all  sorrow  was  this  unswerv- 
ing, direct  experience  of  joy.  She  would  have 
liked  to  share  it  with  Julian,  but  she  thought 
it  was  all  her  own,  and  that  what  he  liked  about 
her — since  he  liked  something — was  her  ability 
to  live  beyond  the  margin  of  her  personal  de- 
light. The  color  of  it  was  in  her  eyes,  and  the 
strength  of  it  at  her  heart ;  but  she  never  let  it 
interfere  with  Julian.  She  was  simply  a  com- 
panion with  a  hidden  treasure.  She  some- 


262        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

times  thought  that  having  it  made  her  a  better 
companion ;  but  even  of  this  she  was  not  sure. 

It  made  her  a  little  nervous  taking  Ostrog 
out  alone,  but  she  always  took  the  lead  with 
him,  and  slipped  it  on  him  if  a  living  creature 
appeared  on  the  horizon.  There  were  some 
living  creatures  he  didn't  mind,  but  you 
could  n't  be  sure  which. 

One  evening  she  was  tired  and  forgot  him. 
There  was  a  wonderful  sunset.  She  stood  to 
watch  it  in  a  hollow  of  the  downs  where  she 
was  waiting  for  Julian.  The  soft,  gray  lines 
rose  up  on  each  side  of  her,  immemorial,  inal- 
terable lines,  of  gentle  land.  The  air  was  as 
transparently  clear  as  water,  and  hushed  with 
evening.  Far  below  her,  where  the  small 
church  steeple  sprang,  she  saw  the  swallows 
cutting  V-shaped  figures  to  and  fro  above  the 
shining  elms. 

For  a  long  time  she  heard  no  sound,  and 
then,  out  of  the  stillness,  came  a  faint  and  hol- 
low boom.  Far  away  across  the  placid  shapes 
of  little  hills,  over  the  threatened  seas,  the  guns 
sounded  from  France — the  dim,  intolerable 
ghosts  of  war. 

Ostrog,  impatient  of  her  stillness,  bounded 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         263 

to  the  edge  of  the  hollow  and  challenged  the 
strange  murmur  to  the  echo.  He  was  an- 
swered immediately.  A  sheep-dog  shot  up 
over  the  curve  of  the  down.  Ostrog  was  at  his 
throat  in  an  instant. 

There  was  a  momentary  recoil  for  a  fresh 
onslaught,  and  then  the  shrieks  of  the  prelim- 
inary tussle  changed  into  the  full-throated 
growl  of  combat.  There  was  every  prospect 
that  one  or  other  of  them  would  be  dead  be- 
fore their  jaws  unlocked. 

Stella  hovered  above  them  in  frantic  uncer- 
tainty. She  was  helpless  till  she  saw  that  there 
was  no  other  help.  The  sheep-dog  had  had 
enough;  a  sudden  scream  of  pain  stung  her 
into  action.  She  seized  Ostrog's  hind  leg  and 
twisted  it  sharply  from  under  him. 

At  the  moment  she  did  so  she  heard  Julian's 
voice : 

"Wait!    For  God's  sake,  let  go!" 

But  she  could  not  wait;  the  sheep-dog  was 
having  the  life  squeezed  out  of  him.  She 
tugged  and  twisted  again.  Ostrog's  grip 
slackened,  he  flung  a  snap  at  her  across  his 
shoulder,  and  then,  losing  his  balance,  turned 
on  her  in  a  flash.  She  guarded  her  head,  but 


264        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

his  teeth  struck  at  her  shoulder.  She  felt  her- 
self thrust  back  by  his  weight,  saw  his  red  jaws 
open  for  a  fresh  spring,  and  then  Julian's 
crutch  descended  sharply  on  Ostrog's  head. 
Ostrog  dropped  like  a  stone,  the  bob-tailed 
sheep-dog  crawled  safely  away,  and  Stella 
found  herself  in  Julian's  arms. 

"Dearest,  sure  you're  not  hurt?  Sure?" 
he  implored  breathlessly,  and  then  she  knew 
what  his  eyes  asked  her,  they  were  so  near  her 
own  and  so  intent;  and  while  her  lips  said, 
"Sure,  Julian,"  she  knew  her  own  eyes  an- 
swered them. 

He  drew  her  close  to  his  heart  and  kissed 
her  again  and  again. 

The  idea  of  making  any  resistance  to  him 
never  occurred  to  Stella.  Nothing  that  Ju- 
lian asked  of  her  could  seem  strange.  She 
only  wondered,  if  that  was  what  he  wanted, 
why  he  had  not  done  it  before. 

He  put  her  away  from  him  almost  roughly. 

"There,"  he  said,  "I  swore  I  'd  never  touch 
you!  And  I  have!  I  'm  a  brute  and  a  black- 
guard. Try  and  believe  I  '11  never  do  it  again. 
Promise  you  won't  leave  me?  Promise  you  '11 
forgive  me?  I  was  scared  out  of  my  wits,  and 


She  tugged  and  twisted  again 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         267 

that 's  a  fact.  D'  you  think  you  can  forgive 
me,  Stella?" 

"But  what  have  I  to  forgive?"  Stella  asked. 
"I  let  you  kiss  me." 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Julian,  half  laugh- 
ing, "you  are  an  honest  woman!  Well,  if  you 
did,  you  must  n't  'let  me'  again,  that 's  all. 
Ostrog,  you  wretch,  lie  down!  You  ought  to 
have  a  sound  thrashing.  I  'd  have  shot  you  if 
you  'd  hurt  her ;  but  as  I  've  rather  scored  over 
the  transaction,  I  '11  let  you  off." 

Stella  looked  at  Julian  thoughtfully. 

"Why  mustn't  I  let  you  again?"  she  in- 
quired, "if  that  is  what  you  want?" 

Julian,  still  laughing,  but  half  vexed,  looked 
at  her. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "didn't  I  tell  you 
you  'd  got  to  help  me?  I  can't  very  well  keep 
you  here  and  behave  to  you  like  that,  can  I?" 

Stella  considered  for  a  moment,  then  she 
said  quietly,  "Were  you  flirting  with  me,  Ju- 
lian?" 

"I  wish  to  God  I  was!"  said  Julian,  sav- 
agely. "If  I  could  get  out  of  it  as  easily  as 
that,  d'  you  suppose  I  should  have  been  such  a 
fool  as  not  to  have  tried?" 


268        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"I  don't  think  you  would  have  liked  me  to 
despise  you,"  said  Stella,  gently.  "You  see, 
if  you  had  given  me  nothing  when  I  was  giving 
you  all  I  had,  I  should  have  despised  you." 

Julian  stared  at  her.  She  was  obviously 
speaking  the  truth,  but  in  his  heart  he  knew 
that  if  she  had  loved  him  and  he  had  flirted 
with  Iier,  he  would  have  expected  her  to  be  the 
one  to  be  despised. 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  her  and  then  drew  it 
back  sharply. 

"No,  I  'm  hanged  if  I  '11  touch  you,"  he  said 
under  his  breath.  "I  love  you  all  right, — you 
need  n't  despise  me  for  that, — but  telling  you 
of  it 's  different.  I  was  deadly  afraid  you  'd 
see ;  any  other  woman  would  have  seen.  I  Ve 
held  on  to  myself  for  all  I  was  worth,  but  it 
has  n't  been  the  least  good,  really.  I  suppose 
I  've  got  to  be  honest  about  it :  I  can't  keep  you 
with  me,  darling;  you  '11  have  to  go.  It  makes 
it  a  million  times  worse  your  caring,  but  it 
makes  it  better,  too." 

"I  don't  see  why  it  should  be  worse  at  all," 
said  Stella,  calmly.  "If  we  both  care,  and 
care  really,  I  don't  see  that  anything  can  be 
even  bad." 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        269 

Julian  pulled  up  pieces  of  the  turf  with  his 
hand.  He  frowned  at  her  sternly. 

"You  mustn't  tempt  me,"  he  said;  "I  told 
you  once  I  can't  marry." 

"You  told  me  once,  when  you  did  n't  know  I 
cared,"  agreed  Stella.  "I  understand  your 
feeling  that  about  a  woman  who  did  n't  care  or 
who  only  cared  a  little,  but  not  about  a  woman 
who  really  cares." 

"But,  my  dear  child,"  said  Julian,  "that 's 
what  just  makes  it  utterly  impossible.  I  can't 
understand  how  I  ever  was  such  a  selfish  brute 
as  to  dream  of  taking  Marian.  I  was  ill  at 
the  time,  and  had  n't  sized  it  up ;  but  if  you 
ttiink  I  'm  going  to  let  you  make  such  a  sacri- 
fice, you  're  mistaken.  I  'd  see  you  dead  be- 
fore I  married  you!" 

Stella's  eyebrows  lifted,  but  she  did  not  seem 
impressed. 

"I  think,"  she  said  gently,  "you  talk  far  too 
much  as  if  it  had  only  got  to  do  with  you. 
Suppose  I  don't  wish  to  see  myself  dead?" 

"Well,  you  must  try  to  see  the  sense  of  it," 
Julian  urged.  "You  're  young  and  strong; 
you  ought  to  have  a  life.  I  'm  sure  you  love 
children.  You  like  to  be  with  me,  and  all  that ; 


270        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

you  're  the  dearest  companion  a  man  ever  had. 
It  is  n't  easy,  Stella,  to  say  I  won't  keep  you ; 
don't  make  it  any  harder  for  me.  I  've  looked 
at  this  thing  steadily  for  months.  I  don't  mind 
owning  that  I  thought  you  might  get  to  care 
if  I  tried  hard  enough  to  make  you ;  but,  dar- 
ling, I  honestly  didn't  try.  You  can't  say  I 
wasn't  awfully  disagreeable  and  cross.  I 
knew  I  was  done  for  long  ago,  but  I  thought 
you  were  all  right.  You  weren't  like  a  girl 
in  love,  you  were  so  quiet  and — and  sisterly 
and  all  that.  If  I  'd  once  felt  you  were  be- 
ginning to  care  in  that  way,  I  'd  have  made 
some  excuse;  I  wouldn't  have  let  it  come  to 
this.  I  'd  rather  die  than  hurt  you." 

"Well,  but  you  need  n't  hurt  me,"  said 
Stella,  "and  neither  of  us  need  die.  It 's  not 
your  love  that  wants  to  get  rid  of  me,  Julian ; 
it 's  your  pride.  But  I  have  n't  any  pride  in 
that  sense,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  let  you  do 
it." 

"By  Jove!  you  won't!"  cried  Julian.  His 
eyes  shot  a  gleam  of  amusement  at  her.  It 
struck  him  that  the  still  little  figure  by  his  side 
was  extraordinarily  formidable.  He  had 
never  thought  her  formidable  before.  He  had 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        271 

thought  her  brilliant,  intelligent,  and  enchant- 
ing, not  formidable;  but  he  had  no  intention 
of  giving  way  to  her.  Formidable  or  not,  he 
felt  quite  sure  of  himself.  He  couldn't  let 
her  down. 

"The  sacrifice  is  all  the  other  way,"  Stella 
went  on.  "You  would  be  sacrificing  me  hope- 
lessly to  your  pride  if  you  refused  to  marry 
me  simply  because  some  one  of  all  the  things 
you  want  to  give  me  you  can't  give  me.  Do 
you  suppose  I  don't  mind, — mind  for  you,  I 
mean,  hideously, — mind  so  much  that  if  I  were 
sure  marrying  you  would  make  you  feel  the 
loss  more,  I  'd  go  away  from  you  this  minute 
and  never  come  near  you  again?  But  I  do  not 
think  it  will  make  it  worse  for  you.  You  will 
have  me ;  you  will  have  my  love  and  companion- 
ship, and  they  are — valuable  to  you,  aren't 
they,  Julian?" 

Julian's  eyes  softened  and  filled. 

"Yes,"  he  muttered,  turning  his  head  away 
from  her ;  "they  're  valuable." 

"Then,"  she  said,  "if  you  are  like  that  to  me, 
if  I  want  you  always,  and  never  anybody  else, 
have  you  a  right  to  rob  me  of  yourself,  Ju- 
lian?" 


272        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"If  I  could  believe,"  he  said,  his  voice  shak- 
ing, "that  you  'd  never  be  sorry,  never  say  to 
yourself,  'Why  did  I  do  it?'  But,  oh,  my  dear, 
you  know  so  little  about  the  ordinary  kind  of 
love!  You  don't  realize  a  bit,  and  I  do.  It 
must  make  it  all  so  confoundedly  hard  for  you, 
and  I  'm  such  an  impatient  chap.  I  might  n't 
be  able  to  help  you.  And  you  're  right :  I  'm 
proud.  If  I  once  thought  you  cared  less  or 
regretted  marrying  me,  it  would  clean  put 
the  finish  on  it.  But  you  're  not  right 
about  not  loving  you,  Stella,  that 's  worse 
than  pride;  loving  you  makes  it  impossible. 
I  can't  take  the  risk  for  you.  I  '11  do 
any  other  mortal  thing  you  want,  but  not 
that!" 

"Julian,"  asked  Stella  in  a  low  voice,  "do  you 
think  I  am  a  human  being?" 

"Well,  no!"  said  Julian.  "Since  you  ask 
me,  more  like  a  fairy  or  an  elf  or  something. 
Why?" 

"Because  you're  not  treating  me  as  if  I 
were,"  said  Stella,  steadily.  "Human  beings 
have  a  right  to  their  own  risks.  They  know 
their  own  minds,  they  share  the  dangers  of 
love." 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        273 

"Then  one  of  'em  mustn't  take  them  all," 
said  Julian,  quickly. 

"How  could  one  take  them  all?"  said  Stella. 
"I  have  to  risk  your  pride,  and  you  have  to 
risk  my  regret.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  your 
pride  is  more  of  a  certainty  than  a  risk,  and  my 
regret  is  a  wholly  imaginary  idea,  founded 
upon  your  ignorance  of  my  character.  Still, 
I  'm  willing  to  put  it  like  that  to  please  you. 
You  have  every  right  to  sacrifice  yourself  to 
your  own  theories,  but  what  about  sacrificing 
me?  I  give  you  no  such  right." 

For  the  first  time  Julian  saw  what  loving 
Stella  would  be  like ;  he  would  never  be  able  to 
get  to  the  end  of  it.  Marriage  would  be  only 
the  beginning.  She  had  given  him  her  heart 
without  an  effort,  and  he  found  that  she  was 
as  inaccessible  as  ever.  His  soul  leaped  to- 
ward this  new,  unconquerable  citadel.  He 
held  himself  in  hand  with  a  great  effort. 

"What  you  don't  realize,"  he  said,  "is  that 
our  knowledge  of  life  is  not  equal.  If  I  take 
you  at  your  word,  you  will  make  discoveries 
which  it  will  be  too  late  for  you  to  act  upon. 
You  cannot  wish  me  to  do  what  is  not  fair 
to  you." 


274        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"I  want  my  life  to  be  with  you,"  said  Stella. 
"Whatever  discoveries  I  make,  I  shall  not  want 
them  to  be  anywhere  else.  You  do  not  under- 
stand, but  if  you  send  me  away,  you  will  take 
from  me  the  future  which  we  might  have  used 
together.  You  will  not  be  giving  me  anything 
in  its  place  but  disappointment  and  utter  use- 
lessness.  You  '11  make  me — morally — a  crip- 
ple. Do  you  still  wish  me  to  go  away  from 
you?" 

Julian  winced  as  if  she  had  struck  him. 

"No,  I  '11  marry  you,"  he  said ;  "but  you  Ve 
made  me  furiously  angry.  Please  go  home  by 
yourself.  I  wonder  you  dare  use  such  an  illus- 
tration to  me." 

Stella  slipped  over  the  verge  of  the  hollow. 
She,  too,  wondered  how  she  had  dared ;  but  she 
knew  quite  well  that  if  she  had  n't  dared,  Ju- 
lian would  have  sent  her  away. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

STELLA  was  afraid  that  when  she  went 
down  to  dinner  it  would  be  like  slipping 
into  another  life — a  life  to  which  she  was  at- 
tached by  her  love  for  Julian,  but  to  which  she 
did  not  belong.  It  did  not  seem  possible  to 
her  that  Lady  Verny  would  be  able  to  bear 
her  as  a  daughter-in-law.  As  a  secretary  it 
had  not  mattered  in  the  least  that  she  was 
shabby  and  socially  ineffective.  And  she 
could  n't  be  different ;  they  'd  have  to  take  her 
like  that  if  they  took  her  at  all.  She  ranged 
them  together  in  her  fear  of  their  stateliness; 
she  almost  wished  that  they  would  n't  take  her 
at  all,  but  let  her  slink  back  to  Redcliffe  Square 
and  bury  herself  in  her  own  insignificance. 

But  when  she  went  down-stairs  she  found 
herself  caught  in  a  swift  embrace  by  Lady 
Verny,  and  meeting  without  any  barrier  the 
adoration  of  Julian's  eyes. 

"My  dear,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Verny,  "I 
always  felt  that  you  belonged  to  me." 

275 


276        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"But  are  you  pleased?"  whispered  Stella  in 
astonishment. 

"Pleased!"  cried  Lady  Verny,  with  a  little 
shaken  laugh.  "I  'm  satisfied;  a  thing  that  at 
my  age  I  hardly  had  the  right  to  expect." 

"Mother  thinks  it 's  all  her  doing,"  Julian 
explained.  "It 's  her  theory  that  we  Ve 
shown  no  more  initiative  than  a  couple  of  guar- 
anteed Dutch  bulbs.  Shall  I  tell  you  what 
she  was  saying  before  you  came  down-stairs?" 

"Dear  Julian,"  said  Lady  Verny,  blushing 
like  a  girl,  "you  're  so  dreadfully  modern,  you 
will  frighten  Stella  if  you  say  things  to  her  so 
quickly  before  she  has  got  used  to  the  idea  of 
you." 

"She  's  perfectly  used  to  the  idea  of  me," 
laughed  Julian,  "and  I  Ve  tried  frightening 
her  already  without  the  slightest  success.  Be- 
sides, there 's  nothing  modern  about  a  ma- 
donna lily,  which  is  what  we  were  discussing. 
My  mother  said,  Stella,  that  she  didn't  care 
very  much  for  madonna  lilies  in  the  garden. 
They  're  too  ecclesiastical  for  the  other  flowers, 
but  very  suitable  in  church  for  weddings.  And 
out  in  ten  days'  time,  did  n't  you  say,  Mother? 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         277 

I  hope  they  haven't  any  of  Stella's  procras- 
tinating habits." 

"You  mustn't  mind  his  teasing,  dear," 
Lady  Verny  said,  smiling.  "We  will  go  in  to 
dinner  now.  You  're  a  Little  late,  but  no  won- 
der. I  am  delighted  to  feel  that  now  I  have 
a  right  to  scold  you." 

"The  thing  that  pleases  me  most,"  said 
Julian,  "is  that  I  shall  be  able  to  remove 
Stella's  apples  and  pears  forcibly  from  her 
plate  and  peel  them  myself.  I  forget  how 
long  she  has  been  here,  but  the  anguish  I  have 
suffered  meal  by  meal  as  I  saw  her  plod  her 
unreflecting  way  over  their  delicate  surfaces, 
beginning  at  the  stalk  and  slashing  upward 
without  consideration  for  any  of  the  laws  of 
nature,  nothing  but  the  self-control  of  a  host 
could  have  compelled  me  to  endure.  I  offered 
to  peel  them  for  her  once,  but  she  said  she  liked 
peeling  them ;  and  I  was  far  too  polite  to  say, 
'Darling,  you  Ve  got  to  hand  them  over  to 
me.'  I  'm  going  to  say  it  now,  though,  every 
time." 

"Hush,  dear,"  said  Lady  Verny,  nervously. 
"Thompson  has  barely  shut  the  door.  I 


278        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

really  don't  know  what  has  happened  to  your 
behavior." 

"I  have  n't  any,"  said  Julian.  "I  'm  like 
the  old  lady  in  the  earthquake  who  found  her- 
self in  the  street  with  no  clothes  on.  She 
bowed  gravely  to  a  gentleman  she  had  met  the 
day  before  and  said,  'I  should  be  happy  to  give 
you  my  card,  Mr.  Jones,  but  I  have  lost  the 
receptacle.'  Things  like  that  happen  in  earth- 
quakes. I  have  lost  my  receptacle."  He 
met  Stella's  eyes  and  took  the  consent  of  her 
laughter.  He  was  as  happy  with  her  as  a  boy 
set  loose  from  school. 

Lady  Verny,  watching  him,  was  almost 
frightened  at  his  lack  of  self-restraint.  "He 
has  never  trusted  any  one  like  this  before," 
she  thought.  "He  is  keeping  nothing  back." 
It  was  like  seeing  the  released  waters  of  a 
frozen  stream. 

While  they  sat  in  the  hall  before  Julian  re- 
joined them,  Lady  Verny  showed  Stella  all 
the  photographs  of  Julian  taken  since  he  was 
a  baby. 

There  was  a  singularly  truculent  one  of 
him,  at  three  years  old,  with  a  menacingly 
poised  cricket-bat,  which  Stella  liked  best  of 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         279 

all.  Lady  Verny  had  no  copy  of  it,  but  she 
pressed  Stella  to  take  it. 

"Julian  will  give  you  so  many  things,"  she 
said;  "but  I  want  to  give  you  something  that 
you  will  value,  and  which  is  quite  my  own." 
So  Stella  took  the  truculent  baby,  which  was 
Lady  Verny's  own. 

"You  look  very  comfortable  sitting  there  to- 
gether; I  won't  disturb  you  for  chess,"  Julian 
observed  when  he  came  in  shortly  afterward. 
"I  was  wondering  if  you  would  like  to  hear 
what  I  did  in  Germany.  It 's  a  year  old  now 
and  as  safe  with  you  as  with  me,  but  it 
must  n't  go  any  further." 

Julian  told  his  story  very  quietly,  leaning 
back  against  the  cushions  of  a  couch  by  the 
open  window.  Above  his  head,  Stella  could 
see  the  dark  shapes  of  the  black  yew  hedges 
and  the  wheeling  of  the  bats  as  they  scurried 
to  and  fro  upon  their  secret  errands. 

Neither  Lady  Verny  nor  Stella  moved  un- 
til Julian  had  finished  speaking.  It  was  the 
most  thrilling  of  detective  stories ;  but  it  is  not 
often  that  the  roots  of  our  being  are  involved 
in  "detective  stories. 

They  could  not  believe  that  he  lay  there  be- 


280        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

fore  them,  tranquilly  smoking  a  cigarette  and 
breathed  on  by  the  soft  June  air.  As  they 
watched  his  face  comfort  and  security  van- 
ished. They  were  in  a  ruthless  world  where  a 
false  step  meant  death.  Julian  had  been  in 
danger,  but  it  was  never  the  danger  which  he 
had  been  in  that  he  described;  it  was  the  work 
he  had  set  out  to  do  and  the  way  he  had  done 
it.  He  noticed  danger  only  when  it  ob- 
structed him.  Then  he  put  his  wits  to  meet 
it.  They  were,  as  Stella  realized,  very  excep- 
tional wits  for  meeting  things.  Julian  com- 
bined imagination  with  strict  adherence  to 
fact.  He  had  the  courage  which  never  broods 
over  an  essential  risk  and  the  caution  which 
avoids  all  unnecessary  ones. 

"Of  course,"  he  broke  off  for  a  moment, 
"you  felt  all  the  time  rather  like  a  flea  under 
a  microscope.  Don't  underrate  the  Germans. 
As  a  microscope  there  's  nothing  to  beat  them ; 
where  the  microscope  leaves  off  is  where  their 
miscalculations  begin.  A  microscope  can  tell 
everything  about  a  flea  except  where  it  is  go- 
ing to  hop. 

"I  had  a  lively  time  over  my  hopping;  but 
the  odd  part  of  it  was  the  sense  of  security  I 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         281 

often  had,  as  if  some  one  back  of  me  was  giv- 
ing me  a  straight  tip.  I  don't  understand 
concentration.  You  'd  say  it  is  your  own  do- 
ing, of  course,  and  yet  behind  your  power  of 
holding  on  to  things,  it  seems  as  if  Some- 
thing Else  was  holding  on  much  harder.  It 's 
as  if  you  set  a  ball  rolling,  and  some  one  else 
kicked  it  in  the  right  direction. 

"After  I  'd  been  in  Germany  for  a  month  I 
began  to  believe  in  an  Invisible  Kicker-Off. 
It  was  company  for  me,  for  I  was  lonely.  I 
had  to  calculate  every  word  I  said,  and  there  's 
no  sense  of  companionship  where  one  has  to 
calculate.  The  feeling  that  there  was  some- 
thing back  of  me  was  quite  a  help.  I  'd  get  to 
the  end  of  my  job,  and  then  something  fresh 
would  be  pushed  toward  me. 

"For  instance,  I  met  a  couple  of  naval  of- 
ficers by  chance, — I  wasn't  out  for  anything 
naval, — and  they  poured  submarine  facts  into 
me  as  you  pour  milk  into  a  jug — facts  that  we 
needed  more  than  the  points  I  'd  come  to  find 
out. 

"I  'm  not  at  all  sure,"  Julian  finished  re- 
flectively, "that  if  you  grip  hard  enough  un- 
der pressure,  you  don't  tap  facts. 


282        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"Have  you  ever  watched  a  crane  work? 
You  shift  a  lever,  and  it  comes  down  as  easily 
as  a  parrot  picks  up  a  pencil ;  it  '11  lift  a  weight 
that  a  hundred  men  can't  move  an  inch,  and 
swing  it  up  as  if  it  were  packing  feathers. 
Funny  idea,  if  there  's  a  law  that  works  like 
that. 

"I  came  back  through  Alsace  and  Lorraine, 
meaning  to  slip  through  the  French  lines.  A 
sentry  winged  me  in  the  woods.  Pure  funk 
on  his  part;  he  never  even  came  to  hunt  up 
what  he  'd  let  fly  at.  But  it  finished  my  job." 

Lady  Verny  folded  up  her  embroidery. 

"It  was  worth  the  finish,  Julian,"  she  said 
quickly.  "I  am  glad  you  told  me,  because  I 
had  not  thought  so  before."  Then  she  left 
them. 

"It  isn't  finished,  Julian,"  murmured 
Stella  in  a  low  voice.  "It  never  can  be  when 
it 's  you." 

"Well,"  said  Julian,  "it 's  all  I  Ve  got  to 
give  you ;  so  I  'm  rather  glad  you  like  it, 
Stella." 

They  talked  till  half  the  long  summer  night 
was  gone.  She  sat  near  him,  and  sometimes 
Julian  let  his  hand  touch  her  shoulder  or  her 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         283 

hair  while  he  unpacked  his  heart  to  her.  The 
bitterness  of  his  reserve  was  gone. 

"I  think  perhaps  I  could  have  stood  it  de- 
cently if  it  hadn't  been  for  Marian,"  he  ex- 
plained. "I  was  damned  weak  about  her,  and 
that 's  a  fact.  You  see,  I  thought  she  had  the 
kind  of  feeling  for  me  that  women  sometimes 
have  and  which  some  men  deserve ;  but  I  'm 
bound  to  admit  I  was  n't  one  of  them.  When 
I  saw  that  Marian  took  things  rather  the  way 
I  should  have  taken  them  myself,  I  went  down 
under  it.  I  said,  'That 's  the  end  of  love.'  It 
was  the  end  of  the  kind  I  was  fit  for,  the  kind 
that  has  an  end. 

"Now  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  something.  I 
never  shall  again,  so  you  must  make  the  most 
of  it,  and  keep  it  to  hold  on  to  when  I  behave 
badly.  You  Ve  put  the  fear  of  God  into  me, 
Stella.  Nothing  else  would  have  made  me 
give  in  to  you ;  and  you  know  I  have  given  in 
to  you,  don't  you?" 

"You  've  given  me  everything  in  the  world 
I  want,"  said  Stella,  gently,  "if  that 's  what 
you  call  giving  in  to  me." 

"I  Ve  done  more  than  that,"  said  Julian, 
quietly.  "I  Ve  let  you  take  my  will  and  turn 


284        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

it  with  that  steady  little  hand  of  yours;  and 
it 's  the  first  time — and  I  don't  say  it  won't  be 
the  last — that  I  've  let  any  man  or  woman 
change  my  will  for  me. 

"Now  I  'm  going  to  send  you  to  bed.  I 
ought  n't  to  have  you  kept  you  up  like  this ; 
but  if  I  Ve  got  to  let  you  go  back  to  your  people 
to-morrow,  we  had  to  know  each  other  a  little 
better  first,  had  n't  we?  I  've  been  trying  not 
to  know  you  all  these  months. 

"Before  you  go,  would  you  mind  telling  me 
about  Mr.  Travers  and  the  cat?" 

"No,"  said  Stella,  with  a  startled  look;  "any- 
thing else  in  the  world,  Julian,  but  not  Mr. 
Travers  and  the  cat." 

"Ostrog  and  I  are  frightfully  jealous  by  na- 
ture," Julian  pleaded.  "He  wouldn't  be  at 
all  nice  to  that  cat  if  he  met  it  without  knowing 
its  history." 

"He  can't  be  unkind  to  the  poor  cat,"  said 
Stella;  "it 's  dead." 

"And  is  Mr.  Travers  dead,  too?"  asked 
Julian. 

"I  should  think,"  said  Stella,  "that  he  was 
about  as  dead  as  the  red-haired  girl  in  the  li- 
brary." 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         285 

"What  red-haired  girl?"  cried  Julian, 
sharply.  "Who  's  been  telling  you — I  mean 
what  made  you  think  I  knew  her  ?  It 's  a  re- 
markably fine  bit  of  painting." 

"But  you  did  know  her,"  said  Stella;  "only 
don't  tell  me  anything  about  her  unless  you 
want  to." 

"I  won't  refuse  to  answer  any  questions  you 
ask,"  said  Julian  after  a  pause,  "but  I  'd  much 
rather  wait  until  we  're  married.  I  am  a  little 
afraid  of  hurting  you ;  you  would  n't  be  hurt, 
you  see,  if  you  were  used  to  me  and  knew 
more  about  men.  You  're  an  awfully  clever 
woman,  Stella,  but  the  silliest  little  girl  I  ever 
knew." 

"I  '11  give  up  the  red-haired  girl  if  you  '11 
give  up  Mr.  Travers,"  said  Stella.  She  rose, 
and  stood  by  his  side,  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

"Do  you  want  to  say  good  night,  or  would 
you  rather  go  to  bed  without?"  he  asked  her. 

"Of  course  I  '11  say  good  night,"  said  Stella. 
"But,  Julian,  there  are  some  things  I  so 
awfully  hate  your  doing.  Saying  good  night 
does  n't  happen  to  be  one  of  them.  It 's  light- 
ing my  candle  unless  I  'm  sure  you  want  to. 


286        THE  SECOXD  FIDDLE 

I  want  to  be  quite  certain  you  don't  mind  me 
in  little  things  like  that." 

Julian  put  his  arms  round  her  and  kissed 
Her  as  gently  as  he  would  have  kissed  a  child. 
"Of  course  you  shall  light  your  candle,"  he 
said  tenderly,  "just  to  show  I  don't  mind  you. 
But  it  is  n't  my  pride  now.  I  don't  a  bit  ob- 
ject to  your  seeing  I  can't.  I  'm  quite  sure 
of  you,  you  see;  unless  you  meant  to  hurt  me, 
you  simply  could  n't  do  it.  And  if  you  meant 
to  hurt  me,  it  would  be  because  you  wanted  to 
stop  me  hurting  myself,  like  this  afternoon, 
wouldn't  it?" 

Stella  nodded.  She  wanted  to  tell  him  that 
she  had  always  loved  him,  long  before  he  re- 
membered that  she  existed.  All  the  while  he 
had  felt  himself  alone,  she  was  as  near  him  as 
the  air  that  touched  his  cheek.  But  she  could 
not  find  words  in  which  to  tell  him  of  her  se- 
cret companionship.  The  instinct  that  would 
have  saved  them  only  brushed  her  heart  in 
passing. 

Julian  was  alarmed  at  her  continued  si- 
lence. 

"You  're  not  frightened  or  worried  or  any- 
thing, are  you?"  he  asked  anxiously.  "Sure 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         287 

you  did  n't  mind  saying  good  night  ?  It 's  not 
compulsory,  you  know,  even  if  we  are  engaged. 
I  'd  hate  to  bother  you." 

"I'm  not  bothered,"  Stella  whispered;  "I 
— only  love  you.  I  was  saying  it  to  you  in  my 
own  way." 

"I  '11  wait  three  days  for  you,"  said  Julian, 
firmly.  "Not  an  hour  more.  You  quite  un- 
derstand, don't  you,  that  I  'm  coming  up  at 
the  end  of  three  days  to  bring  you  home  for 
good?" 

Stella  shivered  as  she  thought  of  Redcliffe 
Square.  Julian  wouldn't  like  Redcliffe 
Square,  and  she  would  n't  be  able  to  make  him 
like  it;  and  yet  she  wouldn't  be  able  not  to 
mind  his  not  liking  it. 

Julian  knew  nothing  about  Redcliffe 
Square,  but  he  noticed  that  Stella  shivered 
when  he  told  her  that  he  was  going  to  bring 
her  home  for  good. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IT  would  be  too  strong  an  expression  to  say 
that  after  Stella's  departure  Julian  suf- 
fered from  reaction.  He  himself  could  n't 
have  defined  what  he  suffered  from,  but  he 
was  uneasy. 

He  had  given  himself  away  to  Stella  as  he 
had  never  in  his  wildest  dreams  supposed  that 
one  could  give  oneself  away  to  a  woman.  But 
he  was  n't  worrying  about  that ;  he  had  n't 
minded  giving  himself  away  to  Stella. 

Samson  was  the  character  in  the  Old  Testa- 
ment whom  Julian  most  despised,  because  he 
had  let  Delilah  get  things  out  of  him.  What 
Samson  had  got  back  hadn't  been  worth  it, 
and  could  probably  have  been  acquired  with- 
out the  sacrifice  of  his  hair.  He  had  simply 
given  in  to  Delilah  because  he  had  a  soft  spot 
for  her;  and  Delilah  quite  blamelessly  (from 
Julian's  point  of  view)  had  retaliated  by  cry- 
ing out,  "The  Philistines  be  upon  thee,  Sam- 
son!" 

288 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        289 

Julian  had  always  felt  perfectly  safe  with 
women  of  this  type ;  they  could  n't  have  en- 
trapped him.  But  there  wasn't  an  inch  of 
Delilah  in  Stella.  She  had  no  Philistines  up 
her  sleeve  for  any  of  the  contingencies  of  life 
and  she  had  not  tried  to  get  anything  out  of 
Julian. 

That  was  where  his  uneasiness  began.  He 
understood  her  sufficiently  to  trust  her,  but  he 
was  aware  that  beyond  his  confidence  she  was 
a  mapless  country ;  he  did  not  even  know  which 
was  water  and  which  was  land.  His  uncer- 
tainty had  made  him  shrink  from  telling  Stella 
about  Eugenie  Matisse. 

If  Marian  had  been  sharp  enough — she 
probably  wouldn't  have  been — to  guess  that 
Julian  knew  the  girl  in  the  picture,  she  would 
have  known,  too,  precisely  what  kind  of  girl 
she  was,  and  she  would  have  thought  none  the 
worse  of  Julian. 

But  he  did  n't  know  what  Stella  expected. 
He  was  n't  afraid  that  she  would  cast  him  off 
for  that  or  any  other  of  his  experiences;  then 
he  would  have  told  her.  She  would  have  for- 
given him  as  naturally  as  she  loved  him;  but 
what  if  her  forgiveness  had  involved  her  pain? 


290        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

He  had  spoken  the  truth  when  he  told  Stella 
that  she  had  "put  the  fear  of  God  into  him." 
Julian  had  not  known  much  about  God  before 
or  anything  about  fear;  but  he  was  convinced 
now  that  the  fear  of  God  was  not  that  God 
might  let  you  down,  but  that  you  might  let 
down  God.  He  wanted  to  be  as  careful  of 
Stella  as  if  she  had  been  a  government  secret. 

Did  she  know  in  the  least  what  she  was  in 
for.  Or  was  she  like  an  unconscious  Iphi- 
genia  vowed  off  to  mortal  peril  by  an  an  inad- 
vertent parent? 

He  had  done  his  best  to  make  her  realize  the 
future,  but  there  are  certain  situations  in  life 
when  doing  one's  best  to  make  a  person  aware 
of  a  fact  is  equivalent  to  throwing  dust  in  his 
eyes.  And  Stella  herself  might  by  a  species 
of  divine  fooling,  have  outwitted  both  himself 
and  her.  She  might  be  marrying  Julian  for 
pity  under  the  mask  of  love. 

Her  pity  was  divine,  and  he  could  stand  it 
for  himself  perfectly;  but  he  could  n't  stand  it 
for  her.  Why  had  she  shivered  when  he  had 
said  he  was  going  to  bring  her  home?  He 
cursed  his  helplessness.  If  he  had  not  been 
crippled  he  would  have  taken  her  by  surprise, 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        291 

and  let  his  instincts  judge  for  him;  but  he  had 
had  to  lie  there  like  a  log,  knowing  that  if  he 
asked  her  to  come  to  him,  she  would  have 
blinded  him  by  her  swift,  prepared  responsive- 
ness. 

The  moment  on  the  downs  hardly  counted. 
She  had  been  so  frightened  that  it  had  been 
like  taking  advantage  of  her  to  take  her  in 
his  arms. 

The  one  comfort  he  clung  to  was  her  fierce 
thrust  at  his  pride.  He  repeated  it  over  and 
over  to  himself  for  reassurance.  She  had  said, 
if  he  would  n't  marry  her,  he  would  make  her 
morally  a  cripple.  That  really  sounded  like 
love,  for  only  love  dares  to  strike  direct  at  the 
heart.  If  he  could  see  her,  he  knew  it  would 
be  all  right;  if  even  she  had  written  (she  had 
written,  of  course,  but  had  missed  the  midnight 
post),  he  would  have  been  swept  back  into  the 
safety  of  their  shared  companionship.  But  in 
his  sudden  loneliness  he  mistrusted  fortune. 
When  a  man  has  had  the  conceit  knocked  out 
of  him,  he  is  not  immediately  the  stronger  for 
it ;  and  he  is  the  more  vulnerable  to  doubt  not 
only  of  himself,  but  of  others.  The  saddest 
part  of  self -distrust  is  that  it  breeds  suspicion. 


292        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

It  would  be  useless  to  speak  to  his  mother 
about  it,  for,  though  a  just  woman,  she  was 
predominantly  his  mother;  she  wanted  Stella 
too  much  for  Julian  to  admit  a  doubt  of 
Stella's  wanting  him  for  herself.  She  would 
have  tried  to  close  all  his  questions  with  facts. 
This  method  of  discussion  appealed  to  Julian 
as  a  rule,  but  he  had  begun  to  discover  that 
there  are  deeper  things  than  facts. 

Lady  Verny  was  in  London  at  a  flower  show, 
and  Julian  was  sitting  in  the  summer-house, 
which  he  was  planning  to  turn  into  a  room 
for  Stella.  His  misgivings  had  not  yet  begun 
to  interfere  with  his  plans.  He  had  just  de- 
cided to  have  one  of  the  walls  above  the  water 
meadows  replaced  by  glass  when  his  attention 
was  attracted  by  the  most  extraordinary  figure 
he  had  ever  seen. 

She  was  advancing  rapidly  down  a  grass 
path,  between  Lady  Verny's  favorite  her- 
baceous borders,  pursued  by  the  butler.  At 
times  Thompson,  stout  and  breathless,  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  her  side,  evidently  for  the 
purpose  of  expostulation,  only  to  be  swept 
backward  by  the  impetuosity  of  her  speed. 
Eurydice  was  upon  a  secret  mission.  She  had 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        293 

borrowed  a  pound  from  Stella  with  which  to 
carry  it  out ;  and  she  was  not  going  to  be  im- 
peded by  a  butler. 

She  no  longer  followed  the  theories  of  Mr. 
Bolt,  but  she  still  had  to  wear  out  the  kind  of 
clothes  that  went  with  Mr.  Bolt's  theories. 
He  liked  scarlet  hats.  Eurydice's  hat  was 
scarlet,  and  her  dress  was  a  long  purple  robe 
that  hung  straight  from  her  shoulders. 

It  was  cut  low  in  the  neck,  with  a  system  of 
small  scarlet  tabloids  let  in  around  the  shoul- 
ders. Golden  balls,  which  were  intended  to 
represent  pomegranates,  dangled  from  her 
waist. 

Eurydice's  hair  was  thick  and  very  dark; 
there  was  no  doing  anything  with  it.  Her  eye- 
brows couched  menacingly  above  her  stormy 
eyes.  Her  features  were  heavy  and  color- 
less, except  her  mouth,  which  was  unnaturally 
(and  a  little  unevenly)  red. 

She  wore  no  gloves, — she  had  left  them  be- 
hind in  the  train, — and  she  carried  a  scarlet 
parasol  with  a  broken  rib. 

"I  wish  you  'd  send  this  man  away,"  she 
said  as  she  approached  Julian.  "He  keeps 
getting  under  my  feet,  and  I  dislike  menials. 


294        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

I  saw  where  you  were  for  myself.  I  nearly 
got  bitten  by  a  brute  of  a  dog  on  the  terrace. 
You  have  no  right  to  keep  a  creature  that 's 
a  menace  to  the  public." 

"I  regret  that  you  have  been  inconven- 
ienced," said  Julian,  politely;  "but  I  must 
point  out  to  you  that  the  public  are  not  ex- 
pected upon  the  terrace  of  a  private  garden." 

"As  far  as  that  goes,"  said  Eurydice,  frown- 
ing at  a  big  bed  of  blue  Delphiniums,  "nobody 
has  a  right  to  have  a  private  garden." 

Thompson,  with  an  enormous  effort,  physi- 
cal as  well  as  spiritual,  cut  off  the  end  of  the 
border  by  a  flying  leap,  and  reached  the  young 
woman's  elbow. 

"If  you  please,  Sir  Julian,"  he  gasped,  "this 
lady  says  she  'd  rather  not  give  her  name.  She 
did  n't  wish  to  wait  in  the  hall,  nor  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, sir,  and  I  Ve  left  James  sitting  on 
Ostrog's  'ead, — or  I  'd  have  been  here  before. 
What  with  one  thing  and  another,  Sir  Julian, 
I  came  as  quickly  as  I  could." 

"I  saw  you  did,  Thompson,"  said  Julian, 
with  a  gleam  of  laughter;  "and  now  you  may 
go.  Tell  James  to  get  off  Ostrog's  head." 
He  turned  his  eyes  on  his  visitor.  "I  am  Miss 


The  most  extraordinary  figure  we  had  ever  seen 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        297 

Waring,"   she   said   as   the  butler  vanished. 

"This  is  extraordinarily  kind  of  you,"  Ju- 
lian said,  steadying  himself  with  one  hand,  and 
holding  out  his  other  to  Eurydice.  "I  think 
you  must  be  Miss  Eurydice,  aren't  you?  I 
was  looking  forward  to  meeting  you  to-mor- 
row. I  hope  nothing  is  wrong  with  Stella?" 

"Everthing  is  wrong  with  her,"  flashed 
Eurydice,  ignoring  his  outstretched  hand; 
"but  she  does  n't  know  I  Ve  come  to  talk  to 
you  about  it.  She  'd  never  forgive  me  if  she 
did.  So  if  I  say  anything  you  don't  like,  you 
can  revenge  yourself  on  me  by  telling  her.  I 
have  n't  come  to  be  kind,  as  you  call  it.  I  care 
far  too  much  for  the  truth." 

"Still,  you  may  as  well  sit  down,"  said  Ju- 
lian, drawing  a  chair  toward  her  with  his  free 
hand.  "The  truth  is  quite  compatible  with  a 
wicker  arm-chair.  You  need  n't  lean  back  in 
it  if  you  're  afraid  of  relaxing  your  moral 
fiber. 

"As  to  revenge,  I  always  choose  my  own, 
and  even  if  you  make  it  necessary,  I  don't  sup- 
pose it  will  include  your  sister.  What  you 
suggest  would  have  the  disadvantage  of  doing 
that,  wouldn't  it?  I  mean  the  disadvantage 


298        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

to  me.  It  has  n't  struck  you  apparently  as  a 
disadvantage  that  you  are  acting  disloyally  to- 
ward your  sister  in  doing  what  you  know  she 
would  dislike." 

Eurydice  flung  back  her  head  and  stared  at 
him.  She  accepted  the  edge  of  the  wicker 
arm-chair  provisionally.  Her  eyes  traveled 
relentlessly  over  Julian.  She  took  in,  and  let 
him  see  that  she  took  in,  the  full  extent  of  his 
injury;  but  she  spared  him  pity.  She  looked 
as  if  she  were  annoyed  with  him  for  having  in- 
juries. 

"What  I  'm  doing,"  she  said,  "is  my  busi- 
ness, not  yours.  It  might  n't  please  Stella, — 
I  must  take  the  risk  of  that, — but  if  it  saves 
her  from  you,  it  will  be  worth  it." 

Julian  bowed;  his  eyes  sparkled.  An 
enemy  struck  him  as  preferable  to  a  secret 
doubt. 

"I  didn't  know,"  she  said  after  a  slight 
pause  which  Julian  did  nothing  to  relieve, 
"that  you  were  as  badly  hurt  as  you  appear  to 
be.  It  makes  it  harder  for  me  to  talk  to  you 
as  freely  as  I  had  intended." 

"I  assure  you,"  said  Julian,  smiling,  "that 
you  need  have  no  such  scruples.  My  incapaci- 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        299 

ties  are  local,  and  I  can  stand  a  long  tongue  as 
well  as  most  men,  even  if  I  like  it  as  little." 

"I  thought  you  would  be  insolent,  and  you 
are  insolent,"  said  Eurydice,  with  gloomy  sat- 
isfaction. "That  was  one  of  the  things  I  said 
to  Stella." 

Julian  leaned  forward,  and  for  a  moment  his 
frosty,  blue  eyes  softened  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"I  admit  I  'm  not  very  civil  if  I  'm  wrongly 
handled,"  he  said  in  a  more  conciliatory  tone. 
"Your  manner  was  just  a  trifle  unfortunate, 
Miss  Eurydice ;  but  I  'd  really  like  to  be 
friends  with  you.  I  Ve  not  forgotten  that 
Stella  told  me  you  were  her  'special'  sister. 
Shall  we  start  quite  afresh,  and  you  just  tell  me 
as  nicely  as  you  know  how  what  wrong  you 
think  I  'm  doing  Stella?" 

"I  couldn't  possibly  be  friends  with  you," 
Eurydice  said  coldly.  "The  sight  of  you  dis- 
gusts me." 

Julian  lowered  his  eyes  for  a  moment ;  when 
he  raised  them  again  the  friendliness  had 
gone.  They  were  as  hard  as  wind-swept  seas. 

"I  suppose,"  he  suggested  quietly,  "that 
you  have  some  point  to  make.  Isn't  that  a 
little  off  it?" 


300        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"I  don't  mean  physically,"  said  Eurydice, 
with  a  wave  of  her  hand  which  included  his 
crutches.  "You  can't  help  being  a  cripple. 
It  is  morally  I  am  sick  to  think  of  you.  Here 
you  are,  surrounded  by  luxury,  waited  on  hand 
and  foot  by  menials,  and  yet  you  can't  face 
your  hardships  alone — you  are  so  parasitic  by 
nature  that  you  have  to  drag  down  a  girl  like 
Stella  by  trading  on  her  pity." 

"It  would,"  said  Julian  in  a  level  voice,  hold- 
ing his  temper  down  by  an  effort,  "be  rather 
difficult  for  even  the  cleverest  parasite  to  drag 
your  sister  down  in  the  sense  of  degrading  her. 
Possibly  you  merely  refer  to  her  having  con- 
sented to  marry  me?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Eurydice,  obstinately. 
"I  call  it  dragging  a  person  down  if  you  make 
them  sacrifice  their  integrity.  Stella  and  I  al- 
ways agreed  about  that  before.  She  cared 
more  for  the  truth  than  anything.  Now  she 
does  n't ;  she  cares  more  about  hurting  your 
feelings.  I  faced  her  with  it  last  night,  and 
she  never  even  attempted  to  answer  me.  She 
only  said,  'Oh,  don't!'  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands." 

"What  unspeakable  thing  did  you  say  to 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         301 

her?"  asked  Julian,  savagely,  "to  make  her  do 
that?" 

Ostrog,  released  from  James,  rejoined  them, 
cowering  down  at  his  master's  feet;  he  was 
aware  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  an  anger 
fiercer  than  his  own. 

"I  did  n't  come  here  to  mince  matters,"  said 
Eurydice,  defiantly.  "If  you  want  to  know 
what  I  said  to  Stella,  I  asked  her  why  she 
was  going  to  marry  a  tyrannical,  sterile  crip- 
ple?" 

For  a  moment  Julian  did  not  answer  her; 
when  he  did,  he  had  regained  an  even  quieter 
manner  than  before. 

"Very  forcibly  put,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice; 
"and  your  sister  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  said,  'Oh,  don't !' — you  must  have  felt  very 
proud  of  yourself." 

"If  you  think  I  like  hurting  Stella,  you  're 
wrong,"  said  Eurydice.  "But  I  'd  rather  hurt 
her  now  than  see  her  whole  life  twisted  out  of 
shape  by  giving  way  to  a  feeling  that  is  n't  the 
strongest  feeling  in  her,  or  I  wouldn't  have 
come  down  here.  But  she  did  n't  deny  it." 

"What  didn't  she  deny?"  asked  Julian. 

"What  I  came  to  tell  you,"  said  Eurydice. 


302        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"The  strongest  feeling  in  Stella's  life  is  her 
love  for  Mr.  Travers,  and  she  gave  him  up  be- 
cause she  discovered  that  it  was  also  the  strong- 
est thing  in  mine." 

Julian  flung  back  his  head. 

"Seriously,  Miss  Eurydice,"  he  asked,  "are 
you  asking  me  to  believe  that  your  sister  's  in 
love  with  a  town  clerk?" 

Eurydice  flushed  crimson  under  the  undis- 
guised amusement  in  Julian's  eyes.  He  was 
amused,  even  though  he  had  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  Mr.  Travers  was  the  name  of  the 
town  clerk. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Eurydice,  fiercely. 
"He  's  wonderful.  He  is  n't  like  you — he 
works.  He 's  like  Napoleon,  only  he 's  al- 
ways right,  and  he  has  n't  asked  her  to  be  his 
permanent  trained  nurse !" 

Julian  had  a  theory  that  you  cannot  swear 
at  women ;  so  he  caught  the  words  back,  and 
wondered  what  would  happen  if  Eurydice  said 
anything  worse. 

"Don't  you  think,"  he  said  after  a  pause, 
"that  if  you  insulted  me  once  every  five  min- 
utes, and  then  took  a  little  rest,  we  might  finish 
quicker?  I  will  admit  that  there  is  no  reason 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        303 

why  Stella  shouldn't  be  in  love  with  Mr. 
Travers  except  the  reason  that  I  have  for 
thinking  she  's  in  love  with  me." 

"Well,  she  is  n't,"  asserted  Eurydice. 
"She  's  awfully  fond  of  you,  but  it  all  started 
with  her  finding  out  that  you  were  unhappier 
than  she  was.  She  came  to  you  to  get  over 
what  she  felt  about  Mr.  Travers,  and  to  free 
him  to  care  for  me ;  but  he  does  n't.  That 's 
how  I  found  out;  I  asked  him." 

"The  deuce  you  did!"  exclaimed  Julian. 
"Poor  old  Travers!" 

Eurydice  ignored  this  flagrant  impertinence. 
She  repeated  Mr.  Travers's  exact  words:  "I 
cared  for  your  sister,  Miss  Waring;  I  am  not 
a  changeable  man." 

"But  I  notice,"  said  Julian,  politely,  "that 
this  profession  of  Mr.  Travers's  feelings  which 
you  succeeded  in  wringing  from  him  does  not 
include  your  sister's.  I  had  already  inferred 
from  my  slight  knowledge  of  your  sister  that 
Mr.  Travers  was  attached  to  her.  The  in- 
ference was  easy." 

"I  hoped  that  myself,"  said  Eurydice— "I 
mean,  that  she  did  n't  care.  I  wrote  and  asked 
Cicely.  She  's  my  other  sister ;  she  hates  me, 


304        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

but  she  's  just.  She  does  n't  know  about  you, 
of  course.  Would  you  like  to  see  her  letter?" 
"It  seems  a  fairly  caddish  thing  to  do, 
does  n't  it?"  asked  Julian,  pleasantly.  "How- 
ever, perhaps  this  is  hardly  the  moment  for  be- 
ing too  particular.  Yes,  you  can  hand  me  over 
the  letter."  Julian  read: 

My  dear  Eurydice: 

You  ask  if  I  think  Stella  cared  for  Mr.  Travers.  I 
dislike  this  kind  of  question  very  much.  However,  as 
you  seem  to  have  some  qualms  of  conscience  at  last,  you 
may  as  well  know  that  I  think  she  did.  She  's  never 
had  anything  for  herself.  You  've  always  taken  all 
there  was  to  take,  and  I  dare  say  she  thought  Mr.  Trav- 
ers ought  to  be  included.  She  never  told  me  that  she 
cared  for  him,  but  of  course  even  you  must  know  that 
Stella  would  n't  do  such  a  thing  as  that.  She  spoke 
during  her  illness  of  him  once  in  a  way  that  made  me 
suspect  what  she  was  feeling,  added  to  which  I  was  sure 
that  she  was  struggling  against  great  mental  pain,  as 
well  as  physical.  She  evidently  wanted  to  get  away 
from  the  town  hall  and  leave  Mr.  Travers  to  you.  You 
can  draw  your  own  inferences  from  these  facts.  Stella 
would  rather  be  dragged  to  pieces  by  wild  horses  than 
tell  you  any  more;  so,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  avoid  ask- 
ing her. 

Your  affectionate  sister, 

CICELY. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        305 

"You  did  ask  her,  of  course,"  said  Julian, 
handing  Eurydice  the  letter;  ''and  as  we  are 
both  acting  in  a  thoroughly  underhand  way, 
perhaps  you  will  not  mind  repeating  to  me 
Stella's  reply." 

"At  first  she  did  n't  answer  at  all,"  said 
Eurydice,  slowly,  "and  then  when  I  asked  her 
again  she  said ;  'I  'm  not  going  to  tell  you  any- 
thing at  all  about  Mr.  Travers.  I  came  here 
to  tell  you  about  Julian,  only  you  won't  listen 
to  me.'  Then,"  said  Eurydice,  "she  cried." 

"Please  don't  tell  me  any  more,"  said  Ju- 
lian, quickly,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 
"I  should  be  awfully  obliged  if  you  'd  go.  I 
think  you  Ve  said  enough." 

Eurydice  also  thought  that  she  had  said 
enough;  so  she  returned  with  the  satisfaction 
of  one  who  has  accomplished  a  mission,  on  the 
rest  of  Stella's  pound. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

This  is  going  to  be  my  last  love-letter  to  you,  Stella. 
I  wonder  if  you  will  know  it  is  a  love-letter.  It  won't 
sound  particularly  like  one.  It 's  to  tell  you  that  I 
can't  go  through  with  our  marriage.  I  can't  give  you 
my  reasons,  and  I  can't  face  you  without  giving  them 
to  you.  You  must  try  to  take  my  word  for  it  that  I  am 
doing  what  I  think  best  for  both  of  us. 

You  see,  I  trust  you  to  do  what  I  want,  though  I 
know  I  am  acting  in  a  way  that  you  '11  despise.  If  ypu 
will  think  of  what  it,means  for  me  to  act  in  such  a  way, 
you  '11  realize  that  I  am  pretty  certain  that  I  am  right. 

You  are  the  best  friend  I  ever  had,  man  or  woman, 
and  I  know  you  value  my  friendship,  so  that  it  seems 
uncommonly  mean  to  take  it  away  from  you;  and  yet 
I  'm  afraid  I  can't  be  satisfied  with  your  friendship. 

It  would  honestly  make  me  happier  to  hear  that  you 
were  married;  but  I  couldn't  meet  you  afterward,  and 
if  you  don't  marry,  I  could  n't  let  you  alone. 

You  see,  I  tried  that  plan  when  I  did  n't  know  you  'd 
let  me  do  anything  else,  and  it  can't  be  said  to  have 
worked  very  well,  can  it?  It  would  be  quite  impossible 
now.  There  are  two  things  I  'd  like  you  to  remember. 
One  is,  if  you  set  out,  as  I  think  you  did,  to  heal  a 
306 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        307 

broken  man,  you  've  succeeded,  and  nothing  can  take 
away  from  your  success.  You  put  in  a  new  mainspring. 
I  am  going  to  work  now.  Some  day  I  '11  finish  the 
book,  but  not  yet.  The  second  thing  is  something  I 
want  you  to  do  for  me.  I  know  I  have  no  right  to  ask 
you !  I  'm  only  appealing  to  your  mercy.  Will  you  let 
my  mother  help  you  a  little?  I  know  you  won't  let 
me,  but  you  would  have  let  me,  Stella.  Think  what 
that  means  to  me  —  to  know  that  you  would  have  taken 
my  help,  and  that  by  freeing  you  I  am  also,  in  a  sense, 
deserting  you.  If  you  still  want  to  make  a  man  happier 
who  has  only  been  a  nuisance  to  you,  you  can't  say  I 
have  n't  shown  you  the  way. 

"I  should  like  to  give  you  Ostrog,  but  I  suppose  he  'd 
be  out  of  place  in  a  town  hall. 

"I  'm  not  going  to  ask  you  to  forgive  me ;  for  I  'm 
not  really  sorry  for  anything  except  that  there  was  n't 
more  of  it  and  I  'm  never  going  to  forget  anything. 

Good-by.  Your  lover, 

JULIAN. 

Stella  was  in  the  middle  of  ironing  the  cur- 
tains when  she  received  Julian's  letter. 
Everything  else  was  ready  for  his  visit  except 
the  curtains. 

Mrs.  Waring  was  dressed.  It  had  taken 
several  hours,  a  needle  and  cotton,  and  all  the 
pins  in  the  house,  and  now  she  was  sitting  in  a 
drawing-room  which  was  tidier  than  any  she 


308        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

had  sat  in  since  her  early  married  life.  She 
thought  that  it  looked  a  little  bare. 

Professor  Waring  was  in  the  Museum.  He 
had  become  so  restless  after  breakfast  that  it 
had  seemed  best  to  despatch  him  there,  and  re- 
trieve him  after  Julian  arrived. 

Eurydice  had  not  asked  Mr.  Travers  for  a 
morning  off ;  she  had  merely  conceded  that  she 
would  allow  Stella  to  arrange  a  subsequent 
meeting  with  Julian  on  Sunday,  if  it  was  really 
necessary. 

Eurydice  kissed  Stella  tenderly  before  she 
left  the  house  to  go  to  the  town  hall.  She 
knew  that  she  had  saved  her  sister,  but  she 
foresaw  for  the  victim  of  salvation  a  few  pain- 
ful moments.  Even  a  kindly  Providence  may 
have  its  twinges  of  remorse. 

Stella  let  the  iron  get  cold  while  she  was 
reading  Julian's  letter;  but  when  she  had  fin- 
ished it,  she  heated  the  iron  again  and  went  on 
with  the  curtains.  They  could  not  be  hung  up 
rough  dried. 

Mrs.  Waring  was  relieved  to  hear  that  Ju- 
lian was  not  coming.  Stella  told  her  at  once, 
while  she  was  slipping  the  rings  on  the  cur- 
tains, which  she  had  brought  up-stairs.  She 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         309 

added  a  little  quickly,  but  in  her  ordinary 
voice : 

"And  we  are  n't  going  to  be  married,  after 
all." 

"Dear  me!"  said  Mrs.  Waring,  trying  not 
to  appear  more  relieved  still.  "Then  there 
won't  have  to  be  any  new  arrangements. 
Marriage  is  very  unreliable,  too — it  turns  out 
so  curiously  unlike  what  it  begins,  and  it  even 
begins  unlike  what  one  had  expected.  I  often 
wish  there  could  be  more  mystical  unions.  I 
can't  agree  with  dear  Eurydice  about  the  draw- 
back of  Julian's  being  rich.  We  are  told  that 
money  is  the  root  of  all  evil,  but  there  is  no 
doubt  that  it  is  more  peaceful  and  refreshing 
to  have  it,  as  it  were,  growing  under  one's 
hand;  and,  after  all,  evil  is  only  seeming.  I 
think  I  '11  just  go  up- stairs  and  take  off  these 
constricting  clothes,  unless,  dear,  you  'd  like 
me  to  help  you  in  any  way.  You  '11  remem- 
ber, won't  you,  that  sensation  is  but  the  petal 
of  a  flower?" 

Stella  said  that  she  thought,  if  she  had  the 
step-ladder,  she  would  be  all  right. 

The  only  moment  of  the  day  (it  was  cu- 
riously made  up  of  moments  prolonged  to 


310        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

seem  like  years)  when  Stella  was  n't  sure 
whether  she  was  really  all  right  or  not  was 
when  she  heard  Lady  Verny's  voice  in  the  hall. 
Lady  Verny's  voice  was  singularly  like  Ju- 
lian's. 

Something  happened  to  Stella's  heart  when 
she  heard  it;  it  had  an  impulse  to  get  outside 
of  her.  She  had  to  sit  down  on  the  top  of  the 
stairs  until  her  heart  had  gone  back  where  it 
belonged. 

The  drawing-room  had  gone  to  pieces  again. 
The  kitten's  saucer  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  and  the  plate-basket  came  half  in  and 
half  out  of  the  sofa-cover.  Lady  Yerny  was 
looking  at  it  with  fascinated  eyes.  She  had 
never  seen  a  plate-basket  under  a  sofa-cover 
before.  Mrs.  Waring,  exhausted  by  her  hours 
of  dressing,  had  gone  to  lie  down.  So  there 
was  only  Stella.  She  came  in  a  little  waver- 
ingly,  and  looked  at  Lady  Verny  without 
speaking. 

Lady  Verny  shot  a  quick,  penetrating  glance 
at  her,  and  then  held  out  her  arms. 

"My  dear!  what  has  he  done?  What  has  he 
done?"  she  murmured. 

Stella  led  Lady  Verny  carefully  away  from 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        311 

the  saucer  of  milk  into  the  only  safe  arm-chair ; 
then  she  sat  down  on  a  footstool  at  her  feet. 

"I  thought,"  she  said  in  a  very  quiet  voice, 
"that  you  'd  come,  but  I  did  n't  think  you  'd 
come  so  soon.  I  don't  know  what  he  's  done." 

"It 's  all  so  extravagant  and  absurd,"  said 
Lady  Verny,  quickly,  "and  so  utterly  un- 
like Julian !  I  have  never  known  him  to  alter 
an  arrangement  in  his  life,  and  as  to  breaking 
his  word !  I  left  him  happier  than  I  have  ever 
seen  him.  He  'd  been  telling  me  that  you  in- 
sisted on  my  staying  with  you  after  your  mar- 
riage. I  told  him  that  I  had  always  thought 
it  a  most  out-of -place  and  unsuitable  plan,  and 
that  he  could  n't  have  two  women  in  our  re- 
spective positions  in  his  house,  and  he  laughed 
and  said:  'Oh,  yes,  I  can.  Stella  has  in- 
formed me  that  marrying  me  is  n't  a  position ; 
it 's  to  be  looked  on  in  the  light  of  an  intellec- 
tual convenience.  You  're  to  run  the  house, 
and  she  's  to  run  me.  I  Ve  quite  fallen  in  with 
it.'  I  think  that  was  the  last  thing  he  said, 
and  when  I  came  back,  there  was  his  astound- 
ing letter  to  say  that  your  marriage  was  im- 
possible, and  that  I  was  on  no  account  to  send 
him  on  your  letters  or  to  refer  to  you  in  mine. 


312        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"He  gave  me  his  banker's  address,  and  said 
that  he  'd  see  me  later  on,  and  had  started 
some  intelligence  work  for  the  War  Office. 
He  was  good  enough  to  add  that  I  might  go 
and  see  you  if  I  liked.  I  really  think  he  must 
be  mad,  unless  you  can  throw  some  light  on  the 
subject.  A  letter  came  from  you  after  he  had 
gone." 

Stella,  who  had  been  without  any  color  at 
all,  suddenly  flushed. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "I  'm  glad  he  did  n't  read 
that  before  he  went!  I  mean,  if  he'd  gone 
after  reading  it,  I  should  have  felt — "  She 
put  out  her  hands  with  a  curious  little  helpless 
gesture,  but  she  did  not  say  what  she  would 
have  felt. 

"Can't  you  explain?"  Lady  Verny  asked 
gravely.  "Can't  you  explain  anything?  You 
'were  perfectly  happy,  weren't  you?  I 
have  n't  been  a  blind,  meddling,  incompetent 
old  idiot,  have  I?" 

Stella  shook  her  head. 

"When  he  left  me,"  she  said,  "he  gave  me 
this."  She  took  it  out  of  her  belt  and  handed 
it  to  Lady  Verny ;  it  was  a  check  for  two  hun- 
dred pounds  inclosed  in  a  piece  of  paper,  on 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         313 

which  was  written,  "Dearest,  please !"  "I  took 
it,"  said  Stella. 

Lady  Verny  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then 
she  said  more  gravely  still: 

"My  dear,  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  some- 
thing,— it  is  not  fair  not  to  let  you  have  every 
possible  indication  that  there  is, — but  the  day 
after  you  left,  while  I  was  away,  I  hear  from 
Thompson,  who  seemed  to  be  extremely  upset 
by  her,  that  a  lady  did  call  to  see  Julian  and  she 
would  not  give  her  name.  Thompson  says  he 
thinks  she  was  a  foreigner. 

"I  do  not  know  what  Julian  may  have  told 
you  about  his  life,  but  I  myself  am  quite  posi- 
tive he  would  have  asked  no  woman  to  marry 
him  unless  he  felt  himself  free  from  any  possi- 
ble entanglement.  Still,  there  it  is:  he  went 
away  after  this  person's  visit." 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  Stella  that  some 
inner  citadel  of  security  within  her  had  col- 
lapsed. She  knew  so  little  about  men ;  she  had 
nothing  but  her  instincts  to  guide  her,  and  the 
memory  of  Eugenie  Matisse's  evil,  laughing 
eyes.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  shut  out  every  thought  but  Julian.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  never  been  so  alone 


314        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

with  him  before,  as  if  in  some  strange,  hidden 
way  she  was  plunging  into  the  depths  of  his 
soul. 

When  she  looked  up  she  had  regained  her 
calm. 

"No,"  she  said;  "I  am  quite  sure  of  Ju- 
lian. Perhaps  some  woman  could  make  him 
feel  shaken — shaken  about  its  being  right  to 
marry  me.  I  can  believe  that,  if  she  was  very 
cruel  and  clever  and  knew  how  to  hurt  him 
most ;  but  there  is  nothing  else,  or  Julian  would 
have  told  me." 

Lady  Verny  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 

"That  is  what  I  think  myself,"  she  said; 
"but  I  could  n't  have  tried  to  persuade  you  of 
it.  My  dear,  did  Julian  know  that  you  had 
always  loved  him?" 

Stella  shook  her  head. 

"I  thought  he  knew  all  that  mattered,"  she 
explained.  "I  didn't  tell  him  anything  else. 
You  see,  there  was  so  very  little  time,  and  I 
was  rather  cowardly,  perhaps.  I  did  n't  want 
him  just  at  once  to  know  that  I  had  loved  him 
before  he  even  knew  that  I  existed." 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  Lady  Verny.  "But 
would  you  mind  his  knowing  now?  He  can't 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        315 

be  allowed  to  behave  in  this  extraordinary  way, 
popping  off  like  a  conjurer  without  so  much  as 
leaving  a  decent  address  behind  him.  I  intend 
to  tell  him  precisely  what  I  think  of  his  be- 
havior, and  I  hope  that  you  will  do  the 
same." 

Stella  turned  round  to  face  Lady  Verny. 

"No,"  she  said  firmly ;  "neither  of  us  must  do 
that.  I  don't  know  why  Julian  has  done  this 
at  all,  but  it  is  quite  plain  that  he  does  not  want 
to  be  interfered  with.  He  wishes  to  act  alone, 
and  I  think  he  must  act  alone.  I  shall  not 
write  to  him  or  try  to  see  him." 

"But,  my  dear  child,"  exclaimed  Lady 
Verny,  "how,  if  we  enter  into  this  dreadful  con- 
spiracy of  silence,  can  anything  come  right?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Stella,  quietly;  "but 
Julian  let  it  go  wrong  quite  by  himself,  and  I 
think  it  must  come  right,  if  it  comes  right  at 
all,  in  the  same  way.  If  it  did  n't,  he  would 
distrust  it.  I  shouldn't — I  should  be  per- 
fectly happy  just  to  see  him;  but,  then,  you 
see,  I  tynow  it 's  all  right.  Julian  does  n't. 
Seeing  me  would  n't  make  it  so ;  it  would  sim- 
ply make  him  give  in,  and  go  on  distrusting. 
We  could  n't  live  like  that.  You  see,  I  don't 


316        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

know  what  has  happened ;  but  I  do  know  what 
he  wants,  so  I  think  I  must  do  it." 

"But  you  don't  think  this  state  of  things  is 
what  he  wants,  do  you?"  Lady  Verny  de- 
manded. "I  may  of  course  he  mistaken,  but 
up  till  now  I  have  been  able  to  judge  fairly  well 
what  a  man  wanted  of  a  woman  when  he 
could  n't  take  his  eyes  off  her  face." 

"He  wants  me  more  than  that,"  said  Stella, 
proudly.  "I  think  he  wants  me  very  nearly 
— not  quite — as  much  as  I  want  him.  That 's 
why  I  couldn't  make  him  take  less  than  he 
wanted.  To  take  me  and  not  trust  me  would 
be  to  take  less.  If  we  leave  him  quite  alone 
for  six  months  or  a  year,  perhaps,  he  '11  have 
stopped  shutting  his  mind  up  against  his  feel- 
ings. It  might  be  safer  then  to  make  an  ap- 
peal to  him ;  but  I  should  n't  like  to  appeal  to 
him.  Still,  I  don't  say  I  won't  do  anything 
you  think  right,  dear  Lady  Verny,  if  you  want 
me  to,  to  make  him  happier;  only  I  must  be 
sure  that  it  will  make  him  happier  first.  I 
know  now  that  it  wouldn't." 

"You're  the  most  extraordinary  creature!" 
said  Lady  Verny.  "Of  course  I  always  knew 
you  were,  but  it 's  something  to  be  so  justified 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        317 

of  one's  instincts.  I  'm  not  sure  that  I  sha'n't 
do  precisely  what  you  say — for  quite  different 
reasons.  Julian  will  count  on  one  of  us  dis- 
obeying his  injunctions,  and  he  '11  be  perfectly 
exasperated  not  to  have  news  of  you.  Well, 
exasperation  is  n't  going  to  do  any  man  any 
harm;  it  '11  end  by  jerking  him  into  some  com- 
mon-sense question,  if  nothing  else  will." 

Stella  smiled,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"Please  don't  hope,"  she  said  under  her 
breath. 

"There  's  one  thing,"  Lady  Verny  said  after 
a  short  pause,  "that  I  do  ask  you  to  be  sensi- 
ble about.  I  can't  take  you  abroad,  as  there 
hardly  seems  at  the  present  time  any  abroad  to 
take  you  to,  but  I  want  you  to  come  and  live 
with  me.  I  think,  after  all  this,  I  really  rather 
need  a  companion." 

Stella  hid  her  face  in  Lady  Verny's  lap. 

"I  can't,"  she  whispered.  "You  're  too  like 
him." 

Lady  Verny  said  nothing  at  all  for  a  mo- 
ment; she  looked  about  the  room.  It  was 
clean;  for  a  London  room  it  was  quite  clean, 
and  Stella  thought  she  had  hidden  all  the  holes 
in  the  carpet.  Lady  Verny's  ruthless,  prac- 


318        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

tised  eye  took  the  faded,  shabby  little  room  to 
pieces  and  reconstructed  the  rest  of  the  dingy 
makeshift  home  from  it.  She  knew  that 
Stella's  room  would  be  the  worst  of  all. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  at  last,  "you  are  so  very 
nearly  a  member  of  my  family  that  I  think  I 
may  appeal  to  you  about  its  honor.  Are  you 
going  to  live  like  this  and  not  let  me  help  you? 
You  are  not  strong  enough  to  work,  and  this 
folly  of  poor  Julian's  won't  make  you  any 
stronger.  Since  you  can't  live  with  me,  won't 
you  accept  a  little  of  what  is  really  yours?" 

"Money?"  asked  Stella,  looking  up  into 
Lady  Verny's  face.  "I  would  if  you  were  n't 
his  mother,  because  I  love  you ;  but  I  can't  now. 
You  see,  Julian  's  taken  his  honor  away  from 
me ;  he 's  left  me  only  my  own.  I  know  he  '11 
think  me  cruel,  and  I  '11  never  return  what  I 
did  take.  He  '11  think  perhaps  I  would  use 
it,  if  I  needed  it,  and  that  may  make  him  hap- 
pier ;  but  I  must  n't  take  any  more.  I  must  be 
cruel." 

"Yes,  you  're  very  cruel,"  said  Lady  Verny, 
kissing  her.  "Well,  I  sha'n't  bully  you,  for  I 
would  n't  do  it  myself.  It  '11  only  make  my 
heart  ache  in  a  new  way,  and  really,  I  'm  so 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        319 

used  to  its  aching  that  I  ought  n't  to  grumble 
at  any  fresh  manifestation.  As  to  Julian's 
heart,  he's  been  so  extraordinarily  silly  that 
only  the  fact  that  folly  is  a  sign  of  love  induces 
me  to  believe  he  's  got  one."  She  rose  to  her 
feet,  with  her  arms  still  about  Stella.  "I  'm 
simply  not  to  mention  you  at  all?"  she  asked. 

Stella  shook  her  head.  She  clung  to  Lady 
Verny  speechlessly,  but  without  tears. 

"And  when  I  see  him  next,"  Lady  Verny 
asked  a  little  dryly, — "and,  presumably,  he  '11 
send  for  me  in  about  a  fortnight, — he  '11  say, 
'Well,  did  she  take  the  money'?  What  am  I 
to  answer  to  that?" 

"Say,"  whispered  Stella,  "that  she  would 
have  liked  to  take  it,  but  she  could  n't." 

"I  could  make  up  something  a  great  deal 
crueller  to  say  than  that,"  said  Lady  Verny, 
grimly.  "However,  I  dare  say  you  're  right; 
it  sounds  so  precisely  like  you  that  it 's  bound 
to  hurt  him  more  than  any  gibe." 

Stella  burst  into  tears. 

"Oh,  don't !  don't !"  she  sobbed.  "You  must 
• — you  must  be  kind  to  him !  I  don't  want  any- 
thing in  the  world  to  hurt  him." 

"I   know  you   don't,"   said   Lady   Verny, 


320        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

gently.  "You  little  silly,  I  only  wanted  to 
make  you  cry.  It  '11  be  easier  if  you  cry  a 
little." 

Stella  cried  more  than  ever  then,  because 
Lady  Verny  was  so  terribly  like  Julian. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IT  was  the  hour  of  the  day  that  Julian  liked 
least.  Until  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
his  mind  was  protected  by  blinkers ;  he  saw  the 
road  ahead  of  him,  but  the  unmerciful  vastness 
of  the  world  was  hidden  from  him.  He  was 
thankful  that  he  could  not  see  it,  because  it 
was  possessed  by  Stella. 

He  could  keep  her  out  of  his  work;  but 
there  was  no  other  subject  she  left  untouched, 
no  prospect  that  was  not  penetrated  with  her 
presence,  no  moment  of  his  consciousness  that 
she  did  not  ruthlessly  share. 

He  knew  when  he  left  her  that  he  must  be 
prepared  for  a  sharp  wrench  and  an  unforget- 
able  loss;  what  he  had  not  foreseen  was  that 
the  wrench  would  be  continuous,  and  that  he 
would  be  confronted  by  her  presence  at  every 
turn. 

Women's  faces  had  haunted  him  before,  and 
he  had  known  what  it  was  to  be  maddened  by 

321 


322        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

the  sudden  cessation  of  an  intense  relationship ; 
but  that  was  different.  He  could  not  remem- 
ber Stella's  face;  he  had  no  visual  impression 
of  her  physical  presence;  he  had  simply  lost 
the  center  of  his  thoughts.  He  felt  as  if  he 
were  living  in  a  nightmare  in  which  one  tries 
to  cross  the  ocean  without  a  ticket. 

He  was  perpetually  starting  lines  of  thought 
which  were  not  destined  to  arrive.  For  the 
first  few  weeks  it  was  almost  easier;  he  felt 
the  immediate  relief  which  comes  from  all  de- 
cisive action,  and  he  was  able  to  believe  that  he 
was  angry  with  Stella.  She  had  obeyed  him 
implicitly  by  not  writing,  and  his  mother  never 
mentioned  her  except  for  that  worst  moment 
of  all  when  she  gave  him  Stella's  words,  with- 
out comment.  "She  would  like  to  take  the 
money,  but  she  cannot  do  it."  This  fed  his 
anger. 

"If  I  'd  been  that  fellow  Travers,  I  suppose 
she  'd  have  taken  it  right  enough,"  he  said  to 
himself,  bitterly,  and  without  the  slightest  con- 
viction. He  said  nothing  at  all  to  his  mother. 
Julian  knew  why  Stella  had  not  taken  the 
money.  It  was  because  she  had  not  consented 
to  what  he  had  done;  he  had  forced  her  will. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         323 

Of  all  her  remembered  words,  the  ones  that 
remained  most  steadily  in  his  mind  were: 
"You  are  not  only  sacrificing  yourself;  you  are 
sacrificing  me.  I  give  you  no  such  right." 

That  was  her  infernal  woman's  casuistry. 
He  had  a  perfect  right  to  save  her.  He  was 
doing  what  a  man  of  honor  ought  to  do,  free- 
ing a  woman  he  loved  from  an  incalculable 
burden.  It  was  no  use  Stella's  saying  she 
ought  to  have  a  choice, — pity  had  loaded  her 
dice, — and  it  was  sheer  nonsense  to  accuse  him 
of  pride.  He  had  n't  any.  He  'd  consented 
to  take  her  till  he  found  she  had  a  decent  mar- 
riage at  her  feet.  He  could  n't  have  done  any- 
thing else  then  but  give  her  up.  The  greatest 
scoundrel  unhung  wouldn't  have  done  any- 
thing else.  It  relieved  Julian  to  compare  him- 
self to  this  illusory  and  self-righteous  person- 
age. 

As  to  facing  Stella  with  it,  which  he  sup- 
posed was  her  fantastic  claim,  it  only  showed 
what  a  child  she  was  and  how  little  Stella  knew 
about  the  world  or  men.  There  were  things 
you  couldn't  tell  a  woman.  Stella  was  too 
confoundedly  innocent. 

Why  should  he  put  them  both  to  a  scene  of 


324        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

absolute  torture?  Surely  he  had  endured 
enough.  He  was  n't  a  coward,  but  to  meet 
her  eyes  and  go  against  her  was  rather  more 
than  he  could  undertake,  knocked  about  as  he 
was  by  every  kind  of  beastly  helplessness.  He 
fell  back  upon  self-pity  as  upon  an  ally;  it 
helped  him  to  obscure  Stella's  point  of  view. 
She  ought  to  have  realized  what  it  would  make 
him  suffer ;  and  she  did  n't,  or  she  would  have 
taken  the  money.  He  did  well,  he  assured 
himself,  to  be  angry;  everything  in  life  had 
failed  him.  Stella  had  failed  him.  But  at 
this  point  his  prevailing  sanity  shook  him  into 
laughter.  He  could  still  laugh  at  the  idea  of 
Stella's  having  failed  him. 

You  do  not  fail  people  because  you  refuse 
to  release  them  from  acting  up  to  the  standard 
you  had  expected  of  them ;  you  fail  them  when 
you  expect  less  of  them  than  they  can  give 
you.  When  Julian  had  faced  this  fact 
squarely  he  ceased  to  beat  about  the  bush  of 
his  vanity.  He  confessed  to  himself  that  he 
was  a  coward  not  to  have  had  it  out  with  Stella. 
But  he  acquiesced  in  this  spiritual  defeat;  he 
assured  himself  that  there  were  situations  in 
life  when  for  the  sake  of  what  you  loved  you 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        325 

had  to  be  a  coward.  Of  course  it  was  for 
Stella's  sake ;  a  man,  he  argued,  does  n't  lie 
down  on  a  rack  because  he  likes  it. 

He  wished  he  could  have  gone  on  being 
angry  with  Stella,  because  when  he  stopped 
being  angry  he  became  frightened. 

He  was  haunted  by  the  fear  of  Stella's  pov- 
erty. He  didn't  know  anything  about  pov- 
erty except  that  it  was  disagreeable  and  a  long 
way  off.  He  had  a  general  theory  that  people 
who  were  very  poor  were  either  used  to  it  or 
might  have  helped  it;  but  this  general  theory 
broke  like  a  bubble  at  the  touch  of  a  special  in- 
stance. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  Stella  had  not  really 
told  him  anything  about  her  life.  He  knew 
that  her  father  was  a  well-known  Egyptolo- 
gist, that  her  mother  had  various  odd  ethical 
beliefs,  and  he  knew  all  that  he  wanted  to  know 
about  Eurydice.  But  of  Stella's  actual  life,  of 
its  burdens  and  its  cares,  what  had  she  told 
him?  That  there  weren't  any  bells  in  the 
house  and  that  the  clocks  did  n't  go. 

This  showed  bad  management  and  explained 
her  unpunctuality,  but  it  explained  nothing 
more.  It  did  not  tell  Julian  how  poor  she 


326        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

was,  or  if  she  was  properly  looked  after  when 
she  came  home  from  work. 

If  she  married  Travers,  she  would  have 
about  nine  hundred  a  year.  Julian  had  made 
investigations  into  the  income  of  metropolitan 
town  clerks. 

He  supposed  that  people  could  just  man- 
age on  this  restricted  sum,  with  economy; 
but  there  seemed  no  reliable  statistics  about 
the  incomes  of  famous  Egyptologists.  Why 
had  n't  he  asked  Stella?  She  ought  to  have 
told  him  without  being  asked.  He  tried  be- 
ing angry  with  her  for  her  secretiveness,  but 
it  hurt  him,  so  he  gave  it  up.  He  knew  she 
would  have  told  him  if  he  had  asked  her. 

Julian  made  himself  a  nuisance  at  the  office 
for  which  he  worked  on  the  subject  of  pay  for 
woman  clerks.  It  relieved  him  a  little,  but 
not  much. 

Logically  he  ought  to  have  felt  only  his  own 
pain,  which  he  could  have  stood;  he  had  made 
Stella  safe  by  it.  But  he  had  deserted  her; 
he  could  n't  get  this  out  of  his  head.  He  kept 
saying  to  himself,  "If  she  's  in  any  trouble,  why 
does  n't  she  go  to  Travers?"  But  he  could  n't 
believe  that  Stella  would  ever  go  to  Travers. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         327 

The  lighting  restrictions — it  was  November, 
and  the  evening  thoroughfares  were  as  dark  as 
tunnels — unnerved  him.  Stella  might  get  run 
over;  she  was  certain  to  be  hopelessly  absent- 
minded  in  traffic,  and  would  always  be  the  last 
person  to  get  on  to  a  crowded  bus. 

It  was  six  months  since  he  had  broken  off 
their  engagement.  Julian  did  not  think  it 
could  possibly  remind  Stella  of  him  if  he  sent 
her,  addressed  by  a  shop  assistant,  a  flash-light 
lamp  for  carrying  about  the  streets.  She 
would  n't  send  back  a  thing  as  small  as  a  torch- 
lamp,  even  if  she  did  dislike  anonymous  pres- 
ents. He  was  justified  in  this  conjecture. 
Stella  kept  the  lamp,  but  she  never  had  a  mo- 
ment's doubt  as  to  whom  it  came  from;  if  it 
had  had  "Julian"  engraved  on  it  she  could  n't 
have  been  surer. 

Julian  always  drove  to  his  club  at  four 
o'clock,  so  that  he  did  n't  have  to  take  his  tea 
alone.  He  did  n't  wish  to  talk  to  anybody,  but 
he  liked  being  disturbed.  Then  he  played 
bridge  till  dinner,  dined  at  the  club,  and  went 
back  to  his  rooms,  where  he  worked  till  mid- 
night. This  made  everything  quite  possible 
except  when  he  could  n't  sleep. 


328        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

He  sat  in  an  alcove,  by  a  large,  polished  win- 
dow of  the  club.  It  was  still  light  enough  to 
see  the  faces  of  the  passers-by,  to  watch  the 
motor-buses  lurching  through  the  traffic  like 
steam  tugs  on  a  river,  and  the  shadows  creep- 
ing up  from  Westminster  till  they  filled  the 
green  park  with  the  chill  gravity  of  evening. 

A  taxi  drew  up  opposite  to  the  club,  and  a 
man  got  out  of  it.  There  was  nothing  par- 
ticularly noticeable  about  the  man  except  that 
he  was  very  neatly  dressed.  Julian  took  an  in- 
stant and  most  unreasonable  dislike  to  him. 
He  said  under  his  breath,  "Why  is  n't  the  fel- 
low in  khaki?" 

The  man  paid  the  driver  what  was  presum- 
ably, from  the  scowl  he  received  in  return,  his 
exact  fare.  Then  he  prepared  to  enter  the 
club.  He  did  not  look  in  the  least  like  any  of 
the  men  who  belonged  to  Julian's  club.  A  mo- 
ment later  the  waiter  brought  to  Julian  a  card 
with  "Mr.  Leslie  Travers"  engraved  upon  it. 

"Confound  his  impudence,"  was  Julian's  im- 
mediate thought.  "Why  on  earth  should  I  see 
the  fellow?"  Then  he  realized  that  he  was  be- 
ing angry  simply  because  Mr.  Travers  had 
probably  seen  Stella. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         329 

Julian  instantly  rejected  the  idea  that  Stella 
had  sent  Mr.  Travers  to  see  him ;  she  would  n't 
have  done  that.  He  was  n't  in  any  way 
obliged  to  receive  him;  still,  there  was  just  the 
off  chance  that  he  might  hear  something  about 
Stella  if  he  did.  Julian  would  rather  have 
heard  something  about  Stella  from  a  con- 
demned murderer;  but  as  Providence  had  not 
provided  him  with  this  source  of  information, 
he  decided  to  see  the  town  clerk  instead.  You 
could  say  what  you  liked  to  a  man  if  he  hap- 
pened to  annoy  you,  and  Julian  rather  hoped 
that  Mr.  Travers  would  give  him  this  oppor- 
tunity. 

Mr.  Travers  entered  briskly  and  without  em- 
barrassment. His  official  position  had  caused 
him  to  feel  on  rather  more  than  an  equality 
with  the  people  he  was  likely  to  meet.  He  did 
not  think  that  Sir  Julian  Verny  was  his  equal. 

Mr.  Travers  considered  all  members  of  the 
aristocracy  loafers.  Even  when  they  worked, 
they  did  it,  as  it  were,  on  their  luck.  They  had 
had  none  of  the  inconveniences  and  resulting 
competence  of  having  climbed  from  the  bottom 
of  the  ladder  to  the  top  by  their  own  unaided 
efforts. 


330        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

There  were  three  or  four  other  men  in  the 
room  when  he  entered  it,  but  Mr.  Travers 
picked  out  Julian  in  an  instant.  Their  eyes 
met,  and  neither  of  them  looked  away  from  the 
other.  Julian  said  stiffly:  "Sit  down,  won't 
you?  What  will  you  take — a  whisky  and 
soda?" 

"Thanks,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  drawing  up  a 
chair  opposite  Julian  and  placing  his  hat  and 
gloves  carefully  on  the  floor  beside  him.  "I 
do  not  drink  alcohol  in  between  meals,  but  I 
should  like  a  little  aerated  water." 

Julian  stared  at  him  fixedly.  This  was  the 
man  Eurydice  had  compared  with  Napoleon, 
to  the  latter's  disadvantage. 

Mr.  Travers  refused  a  cigar,  and  sat  in 
an  arm-chair  as  if  there  were  a  desk  in  front 
of  him.  It  annoyed  Julian  even  to  look  at 
him. 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  "that 
you  are  wondering  why  I  ventured  to  ask  you 
for  this  interview." 

"I  'm  afraid  I  am,  rather,"  Julian  observed, 
with  hostile  politeness.  "I  know  your  name, 
of  course." 

"Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  as  if  Julian 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

had  presented  him  with  a  valuable  concession 
greatly  to  his  advantage.  "I  had  counted 
upon  that  fact  to  approach  you  directly  and 
without  correspondence.  One  should  avoid 
black  and  white,  I  think,  when  it  is  possible,  in 
dealing  with  personal  matters." 

"I  am  not  aware,"  said  Julian,  coldly,  "that 
there  are  any  personal  matters  between  us  to 
discuss." 

"I  dare  say  not,"  replied  Mr.  Travers, 
blandly,  placing  the  tips  of  his  fingers  slowly 
together.  "You  may  have  observed,  Sir  Ju- 
lian, that  coincidences  bring  very  unlikely  peo- 
ple together  at  times.  I  admit  that  they  have 
done  so  in  this  instance." 

"What  for?"  asked  Julian,  succinctly.  He 
found  that  he  disliked  Mr.  Travers  quite  as 
much  as  he  intended  to  dislike  him,  and  he  de- 
spised him  more. 

"An  injustice  has  been  brought  to  my  no- 
tice," said  Mr.  Travers,  slowly  and  impres- 
sively. He  was  not  in  the  least  flurried  by  Ju- 
lian's hostile  manner,  which  he  considered  was 
due  to  an  insufficient  business  education;  it 
only  made  him  more  careful  as  to  his  own.  "I 
could  not  overlook  it,  and  as  it  directly  con- 


332        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

cerns  you,  Sir  Julian,  I  am  prepared  to  make 
a  statement  to  you  on  the  subject." 

"I  'm  sure  I  'm  much  obliged  to  you,"  said 
Julian;  "but  I  trust  you  will  make  the  state- 
ment as  short  and  as  little  personal  as  possi- 
ble." 

"Speed,"  Mr.  Travers  said  reprovingly,  "is 
by  no  means  an  assistance  in  elucidating  per- 
sonal problems;  and  I  may  add,  Sir  Julian, 
that  it  is  at  least  as  painful  for  me  as  for 
you,  to  touch  upon  personal  matters  with  a 
stranger." 

"The  fact  remains,"  said  Julian,  impa- 
tiently, "that  you  're  doing  it,  and  I  'm  not. 
Go  on!" 

Mr.  Travers  frowned.  Town  clerks  are  not 
as  a  rule  ordered  to  go  on.  Even  their 
mayors  treat  them  with  municipal  hesitancy. 
Still,  he  went  on.  Julian's  eyes  held  him  as  in 
a  vice. 

"You  have  probably  heard  my  name,"  Mr. 
Travers  began,  "from  the  elder  Miss  Waring." 
Julian  nodded.  "She  was  for  two  years  and 
a  half  my  secretary.  I  may  say  that  she  was 
the  most  efficient  secretary  I  have  ever  had. 
There  have  been,  I  think,  few  instances  in  any 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         333 

office  where  the  work  between  a  man  and 
woman  was  more  impersonal  or  more  satisfac- 
tory. It  is  due  to  the  elder  Miss  Waring  that 
I  should  tell  you  this.  It  was  in  fact  entirely 
due  to  her,  for  I  found  myself  unable  to  con- 
tinue it.  There  was  a  lapse  on  my  part.  Miss 
Waring  was  consideration  itself  in  her  way  of 
meeting  this — er — lapse;  but  she  uncondi- 
tionally refused  me." 

Julian  drew  a  quick  breath,  and  turned  his 
eyes  away  from  Mr.  Travers. 

"At  the  same  time,"  Mr.  Travers  continued, 
"she  gave  me  to  understand,  in  order,  I  fancy, 
to  palliate  my  error  of  judgment,  that  her  af- 
fections were  engaged  elsewhere." 

Julian  could  not  speak.  His  pride  had  him 
by  the  throat.  He  could  not  tell  Mr.  Travers 
to  go  on  now,  although  he  felt  as  if  his  life  de- 
pended on  it. 

"There  are  one  or  two  points  which  I  put  to- 
gether, at  a  later  date,"  Mr.  Travers  continued, 
after  a  slight  pause,  "and  by  which  I  was  able 
to  connect  Miss  Waring's  statement  with  her 
subsequent  actions.  She  is,  if  I  may  say  so,  a 
woman  who  acts  logically.  "You  were  the 
man  upon  whom  her  affections  were  placed,  Sir 


334        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Julian,  and  that  was  her  only  reason  for  ac- 
cepting your  proposal  of  marriage." 

Julian  stared  straight  in  front  of  him.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  heard  again  the  music 
of  Chaliapine — the  unconquerable  music  of 
souls  that  have  outlasted  their  defeat.  He  lost 
the  sound  of  Mr.  Travers's  punctilious,  care- 
fully lowered  voice.  When  he  heard  it  again, 
Mr.  Travers  was  saying: 

"It  came  to  my  knowledge  through  an  inter- 
view with  the  younger  Miss  Waring,  who  has 
also  become  one  of  our  staff,  that  she  had  re- 
grettably misinformed  you  as  to  her  sister's 
point  of  view.  The  younger  Miss  Waring 
acts  at  times  impetuously  and  without  judg- 
ment, but  she  had  no  intention  whatever  of 
harming  her  sister.  She  has  been  deeply  anx- 
ious about  her  for  the  last  few  months,  and  she 
at  length  communicated  her  anxiety  to  me." 

"Anxious,"  exclaimed  Julian,  sharply. 
"What  the  devil 's  she  anxious  about?" 

"Her  sister's  state  of  health  is  not  at  all 
what  it  should  be,"  Mr.  Travers  said  gravely. 
"She  looks  weak  and  thin,  and  she  occasionally 
forgets  things.  This  is  a  most  unusual  and  se- 
rious sign  in  a  woman  of  her  capacity." 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         335 

"Damn  her  capacity  I"  said  Julian  savagely. 
"Why  on  earth  couldn't  you  stop  her  work- 
ing?" 

"It  is  not  in  my  province  to  stop  people  earn- 
ing their  daily  bread,"  said  Mr.  Travers, 
coldly,  "and  I  have  never  discussed  this  or  any 
other  private  question  with  the  elder  Miss 
Waring  since  her  return.  When  she  came 
back  to  the  town  hall  she  refused  to  displace 
her  sister,  who  had  undertaken  her  former 
work  and  went  into  the  surveyor's  office." 

"All  right,  all  right,"  said  Julian,  hastily. 
"I  dare  say  you  couldn't  have  helped  it; 
but  how  on  earth  did  you  find  out  if  you  Ve 
never  talked  to  Miss  Waring,  what  had  hap- 
pened?" 

"I  investigated  the  matter,"  said  Mr.  Trav- 
ers, "with  the  younger  Miss  Waring.  She 
confessed  to  me,  under  some  slight  pressure  on 
my  part,  her  very  mistaken  conclusions,  and 
the  action  she  had  based  upon  them.  I  sent 
her  at  once,  without  mentioning  what  course  of 
action  I  had  decided  to  take  myself,  to  her  sis- 
ter." 

"You  shouldn't  have  done  that,"  said  Ju- 
lian, with  the  singular  injustice  Mr.  Travers 


336        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

had  previously  noted  and  disliked  in  members 
of  the  upper  classes.  "There  was  n't  any  need 
to  give  Eurydice  away  to  her;  I  could  have 
managed  without  that." 

"You  forget,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  steadily, 
"the  younger  Miss  Waring  had  forfeited  her 
sister's  confidence ;  it  would  have  been  impossi- 
ble to  avoid  clearing  up  the  situation  by  bring- 
ing all  the  facts  to  light.  It  will  not,  I  feel 
sure,  cause  permanent  ill  feeling  between  the 
two  sisters." 

Julian  gave  a  long,  curious  sigh.  His  re- 
lief was  so  intense  that  he  could  hardly  believe 
in  it;  but  he  could  believe,  not  without  reluc- 
tance, in  the  hand  that  had  set  him  free.  It 
had  taken  a  town  clerk  to  show  him  where  he 
stood. 

"It  would  be  difficult,"  he  began — "By 
Jove !  it 's  impossible  to  express  thanks  for  this 
kind  of  thing  1  You  won't  expect  it,  perhaps, 
and  I  know  of  course,  you  did  n't  do  it  for  me. 
For  all  that,  I  'm  not  ungrateful.  I — well — I 
think  you  're  more  of  a  man  than  I  am, 
Travers." 

"Not  at  all,  Sir  Julian,"  said  Mr.  Travers, 
who  privately  felt  surprised  that  there  should 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        337 

be  any  doubt  upon  the  matter.  ''Any  one 
would  have  done  precisely  the  same  who  had 
the  good  fortune  to  know  the  elder  Miss  War- 
ing." 

"Perhaps  they  would,"  said  Julian,  smiling, 
"or,  you  might  add,  the  misfortune  to  come 
across  the  erratic  proceedings  of  the  younger 
one." 

Mr.  Travers  looked  graver  still. 

"There  I  cannot  agree  with  you,"  he  said 
quietly.  "Perhaps  I  should  have  mentioned 
the  matter  before,  but  it  scarcely  seemed  ger- 
mane to  the  occasion;  I  am  about  to  marry 
Miss  Eurydice." 

A  vivid  memory  of  Eurydice  shot  through 
Julian's  mind.  He  saw  her  advancing  down 
the  grass  path  arrayed  in  the  purple  garment, 
with  the  scarlet  hat  and  the  dangling  pome- 
granates; and  the  thought  of  her  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  town  clerk  was  too  much  for  him. 
Laughter  seized  him  uncontrollably  and  shook 
him.  He  flung  back  his  head  and  roared  with 
laughter,  and  the  graver  and  more  disapprov- 
ing Mr.  Travers  looked,  the  more  helplessly 
and  shamelessly  Julian  laughed. 

"I  'm  most  frightfully  sorry,"  he  gasped, 


338        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"  but  I  can't  help  it.     Are  you  sure  you  're  go- 
ing to  marry  her?     I  mean,  must  you?  " 

Mr.  Travers  took  his  hat  and  gloves  care- 
fully in  his  hand. 

"  This  is  not  a  subject  I  care  to  discuss  with 
you,  Sir  Julian,"  he  said,  with  dignity,  "  nor 
is  your  tone  a  suitable  one  in  which  to  refer  to 
a  lady.  A  man  of  my  type  does  not  shilly- 
shally on  the  question  of  matrimony ;  either  he 
is  affianced  or  he  is  not.  I  have  already  told 
you  that  I  am.  You  may  have  some  excuse 
for  misjudging  the  younger  Miss  Waring;  but 
there  can  be  no  excuse  whatever  for  your  flip- 
pant manner  of  referring  to  our  marriage.  It 
is  most  uncalled  for.  I  might  say  offensive." 

A  spasm  of  returning  laughter  threatened 
Julian  again,  but  he  succeeded  in  controlling 
it. 

"  My  dear  Travers,"  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand,  "  please  don't  go  away  with  a  grievance. 
I  am  thoroughly  ashamed  of  myself  as  it  is, 
and  more  grateful  to  you  than  I  can  possibly 
express.  You  '11  forgive  me  for  not  getting 
up,  won't  you?  And  try  to  overlook  my  bad 
manners." 

It  was  the  first  time  during  the  interview 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         339 

that  Mr.  Travers  realized  Julian's  disabilities, 
but  they  did  not  make  him  feel  more  lenient. 

Mr.  Travers  liked  an  invalid  to  behave  as  if 
he  were  an  invalid,  and  he  thought  that  a  man 
in  Julian's  position  should  not  indulge  in  un- 
seemly mirth. 

"Pray  don't  get  up,"  he  said  coldly.  "I  am 
bound  to  accept  your  apology,  of  course, 
though  I  must  confess  I  think  your  laughter 
very  ill  timed." 

Julian  took  this  rebuke  with  extraordinary 
humility.  He  insisted  on  giving  Mr.  Travers 
an  unnecessarily  cordial  hand-shake,  and  in- 
vited him  to  drop  in  again  at  some  hour  when 
he  would  have  a  drink. 

Mr.  Travers  waived  aside  this  suggestion,  he 
did  not  wish  to  continue  Julian's  acquaintance 
and  he  disapproved  of  Julian's  club.  The 
large  luxurious  lounges,  the  silent  obsequious 
servants  and  the  sprinkling  of  indolent  men 
swallowed  up  in  soft  arm-chairs,  bore  out  Mr. 
Travers's  opinion  of  the  higher  classes.  They 
were  drones — whether  they  were  in  khaki  or 
not. 

Mr.  Travers  sighed  heavily  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold.  "She  was  a  perfect  business 


340        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

woman,"  he  said  to  himself  bitterly,  "nipped  in 
the  bud." 

For  the  first  time  since  Mr.  Travers  had 
known  her,  he  found  himself  doubting  the 
judgment  of  the  elder  Miss  Waring. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

JULIAN'S  first  impulse  was  to  drive  to  the 
town  hall  and  carry  Stella  off.  He  was 
debarred  from  doing  so  only  by  a  secret  fear 
that  she  might  refuse  to  come.  He  was  a  lit- 
tle afraid  of  this  first  meeting  with  Stella.  She 
might  haul  him  over  the  coals  as  much  as  she 
liked ;  but  he  wanted  to  stage-manage  the  posi- 
tion of  the  coals. 

He  decided  after  a  few  moments  of  reflec- 
tion to  ring  her  up  on  the  telephone.  The  por- 
ter at  the  other  end  said  that  Miss  Waring 
was  still  at  work,  and  seemed  to  think  that  this 
settled  the  question  of  any  further  effort  on 
his  part.  Julian  speedily  undeceived  him. 
He  used  language  to  the  town  hall  porter 
which  would  have  lifted  every  separate  hair 
from  Mr.  Travers's  head.  It  did  not  have 
this  effect  upon  the  porter.  He  was  a  man 
who  appreciated  language,  and  he  understood 

341 


342        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

that  there  was  an  expert  at  the  other  end  of 
the  line.  It  even  spurred  him  into  a  success- 
ful search  for  Stella. 

"That  you,  Stella?"  Julian  asked,  "Do  you 
know  who  's  speaking  to  you?" 

There  was  a  pause  before  she  answered  a 
little  unsteadily: 

"Yes,  Julian." 

"Well,"  said  Julian,  with  an  anxiety  he 
could  hardly  keep  out  of  his  voice,  "I  want  to 
see  you  for  a  few  minutes  if  you  can  spare  the 
time.  Will  you  come  to  the  Carlton  to  tea? 
I  suppose  I  must  n't  ask  you  to  my  rooms." 

"I  can't  do  either,"  replied  Stella.  "I  'm 
too  busy.  Can't  you  wait  till  Saturday?" 

"Impossible,"  Julian  replied  firmly.  "May 
I  come  and  fetch  you  in  a  taxi?  I  suppose  you 
don't  dine  and  sleep  at  the  town  hall,  do  you?" 

"No,  you  mustn't  do  that,"  said  Stella, 
quickly;  "but  you  can  come  to  the  Cottage 
Dairy  Company,  which  is  just  opposite  here, 
if  you  like.  I  shall  go  there  for  a  cup  of  tea 
at  five  o'clock.  I  can  spare  you  half  an  hour, 
perhaps." 

"Oh,  you  will,  will  you?"  said  Julian,  grimly. 
"I  suppose  I  must  be  thankful  for  what  I  can 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         343 

get.  Five  sharp,  then,  at  the  what-you-may- 
call-'em." 

Stella  put  up  the  receiver,  but  he  thought 
before  she  did  so  that  he  heard  her  laugh. 

Julian  had  never  been  to  the  Cottage  Dairy 
Company  before.  It  was  a  very  nice,  clean, 
useful  little  shop,  and  there  was  no  necessity 
for  him  to  take  such  an  intense  dislike  to  it. 
The  rooms  are  usually  full,  and  for  reasons  of 
space  the  tables  are  placed  close  together.  The 
tables  are  marble-topped  and  generally  clean. 
There  is  not  more  smell  of  inferior  food  than 
is  customary  in  the  cheaper  restaurants  of  Lon- 
don. 

Julian  arrived  at  five  minutes  to  the  hour, 
and  he  turned  the  place  literally  upside  down. 
It  did  no  good,  because  Cottage  Dairy  Com- 
panies are  democratic,  and  do  not  turn  upside 
down  to  advantage. 

He  only  succeeded  in  upsetting  a  manager- 
ess and  several  waitresses,  and  terrifying  an 
unfortunate  shop-girl  who  was  occupying  the 
only  table  in  the  room  at  which  Julian  could 
consent  to  sit  by  standing  over  her  until  she 
had  finished  her  tea,  half  of  which  she  left  in 
consequence. 


344        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Stella  was  ten  minutes  late ;  by  the  time  she 
arrived  Julian  had  driven  away  the  shop-girl, 
had  the  table  cleared,  and  frozen  every  one  in 
the  neighborhood  who  cast  longing  glances  at 
the  empty  place  in  front  of  him.  He  was  con- 
sumed with  fury  at  the  thought  that  in  all 
probability  Stella  had  had  two  meals  a  day  for 
six  months  in  what  he  most  unfairly  charac- 
terized as  a  "loathsome,  stinking  hole." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Stella  had  not  been  able 
to  afford  the  Cottage  Dairy  Company.  She 
had  had  her  meals  at  the  People's  Restaurant, 
which  is  a  little  cheaper  and  not  quite  so  nice. 

Julian's  anger  failed  him  when  he  saw  Stel- 
la's face.  She  looked  ill.  He  could  not  speak 
at  first,  and  Stella  made  no  attempt  whatever 
to  help  him.  She  merely  dropped  her  um- 
brella at  his  feet,  sat  down  opposite  him,  and 
trembled. 

"How  dare  you  come  to  this  infernal 
place?"  Julian  asked  her  at  last,  with  re- 
adjusted annoyance,  "and  why  did  n't  you  tell 
me  you  were  ill?"  Then  he  ordered  tea  from 
a  hovering  waitress.  "If  you  have  anything 
decent  to  eat,  you  can  bring  it,"  he  said  sav- 
agely. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        345 

Stella  smiled  deprecatingly  at  the  outraged 
waitress  before  she  answered  Julian. 

"I  'm  not  ill,"  she  said  gently,  "and  I 
•could  n't  very  well  tell  you  anything,  could 
I,  when  I  didn't  know  where  you  were?" 

"Of  course,  if  you  make  a  point  of  eating 
and  drinking  poison,"  said  Julian,  bitterly, 
"you  are  n't  likely  to  be  very  well.  I  suppose 
you  could  have  told  my  mother,  but  no  doubt 
that  didn't  occur  to  you.  You  simply 
wished — "  He  stopped  abruptly  at  the  ap- 
proach of  the  waitress. 

Stella  did  not  try  to  pour  out  the  tea;  she 
showed  no  proper  spirit  under  Julian's  unjust 
remarks.  She  only  put  her  elbows  on  the 
table  and  looked  at  him. 

"There,  drink  that,"  he  said,  "if  you  can. 
It 's  the  last  chance  you  '11  get  of  this  particular 
brand.  They  call  it  China,  and  it  looks  like 
dust  out  of  a  rubbish-heap.,  I  don't  know 
what  you  call  that  thing  on  the  plate  in  front 
of  you,  but  I  suppose  it 's  meant  to  eat.  So 
you  may  as  well  try  to  eat  it." 

"Food,"  said  Stella,  with  the  ghost  of  her 
sold  fugitive  smile,  "is  n't  everything,  Julian." 

"It 's  all  you  '11  get  me  to  talk  about  in  a 


346        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

place  like  this,"  said  Julian,  firmly.  "I  won- 
der you  did  n't  suggest  our  meeting  in  one  of 
those  shelters  on  the  Strand!  Do  you  realize 
that  there  's  a  Hindu  two  yards  to  your  right, 
a  family  of  Belgian  refugees  behind  us,  and  the 
most  indescribable  women  hemming  us  in  on 
every  side?  How  can  you  expect  us  to  talk 
here?" 

"But  you  and  I  are  here,"  said  Stella, 
quietly.  "Julian,  how  could  you  believe  what 
Eurydice  told  you?" 

Julian  lowered  his  eyes. 

"Must  I  tell  you  now?"  he  asked  gravely. 
"I  'd  rather  not." 

"Yes,  I  think  you  must,"  said  Stella,  relent- 
lessly, "You  need  n't  tell  me  much,  but  you 
must  say  enough  for  me  to  go  on  with.  If 
you  don't,  I  can't  talk  at  all;  I  can  only  be 
afraid." 

Julian  kept  his  eyes  on  a  tea-stained  spot  of 
marble.  There  was  no  confidence  in  his  voice 
now;  it  was  not  even  very  steady  as  he  an- 
swered her. 

"I  made  a  mistake,"  he  said.  "You  were  n't 
there.  I  wanted  you  to  have  everything  there 
was.  I  can't  explain.  I  ought  to  have  let  you 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        347 

choose,  but  if  you  'd  chosen  wrong  I  should 
have  felt  such  a  cur.  I  can't  say  any  more 
here.  Please,  Stella!" 

She  was  quick  to  let  him  off. 

"I  ought  n't  to  have  left  you  so  soon,"  she 
said  penitently;  "that  was  quite  my  fault." 

Julian  made  no  answer.  He  drew  an  im- 
aginary pattern  on  the  table  with  a  fork;  he 
could  n't  think  why  they  'd  given  him  a  fork 
unless  it  was  a  prevision  that  he  would  need 
something  to  fidget  with.  It  helped  him  to 
recover  his  assurance. 

"I  suppose  you  know,"  he  said  reflectively, 
contemplating  the  unsuspicious  Hindu  on  his 
right,  "that  I  'm  never  going  to  let  you  out  of 
my  sight  again?" 

"I  dare  say  I  shall  like  being  alone  some- 
times," replied  Stella;  "but  I  don't  want  you 
to  go  calmly  off  and  arrange  things  that  break 
us  both  to  pieces.  I  'd  never  see  you  again 
rather  than  stand  that !" 

"Now,"  said  Julian,  "you  've  roused  the 
Belgians;  they're  awfully  interested.  I'll 
never  go  off  again,  though  you  're  not  very  ac- 
curate; it  was  you  that  went  off  first.  I  only 
arranged  things,  badly  I  admit,  when  I  was 


348        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

left  alone.  I  was  n't  so  awfully  calm.  As  far 
as  that  goes,  I  Ve  been  calmer  than  I  am  now. 
Have  you  had  enough  tea?" 

"You  know  it 's  you  I  mind  about,"  said 
Stella,  under  her  breath. 

"You  mustn't  say  that  kind  of  thing  in  a 
tea-shop,"  said  Julian,  severely.  "You  're 
very  nearly  crying,  and  though  I  'd  simply  love 
to  have  you  cry,  I  believe  it 's  against  the  regu- 
lations. And  there  's  a  fat  lady  oozing  par- 
cels to  my  left  who  thinks  it 's  all  my  fault, 
and  wants  to  tell  me  so." 

"I  'm  not  crying,"  said  Stella,  fiercely. 
"I  'm  going  back  to  work.  I  don't  believe  you 
care  about  anything  but  teasing." 

"I  don't  believe  I  do,"  agreed  Julian,  with 
twinkling  eyes;  "but  I  haven't  teased  any  one 
for  six  months,  you  know,  Stella.  How  much 
may  I  tip  the  waitress?  Let 's  make  it  some- 
thing handsome;  I  Ve  enjoyed  my  tea.  I  'II 
take  you  across  to  the  town  hall." 

"It 's  only  just  the  other  side  of  the  road," 
Stella  objected. 

"Still,  I  'd  like  you  to  get  into  this  taxi," 
said  Julian,  hailing  one  from  the  door. 

Stella  looked  at  him  searchingly.     "I  should 


'Not  very  clever  of  you,"  he  murmured,  "not  to  guess  why 
I  wanted  a  taxi " 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        351 

be  really  angry  if  you  tried  to  carry  me  off," 
she  warned  him. 

"My  dear  Stella,"  said  Julian,  meeting  her 
eyes  imperturbably,  "I  haven't  the  nerve  to 
try  such  an  experiment.  I  'm  far  too  much 
afraid  of  you.  Get  in,  won't  you?  The 
man  '11  give  me  a  hand."  He  turned  to  the 
driver.  "Drive  wherever  you  like  for  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,"  he  explained,  "and  then  stop 
at  the  town  hall." 

The  taxi  swung  into  the  darkened  thorough- 
fare, and  Julian  caught  Stella  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her  as  if  he  could  never  let  her  go. 

"Not  very  clever  of  you,"  he  murmured, 
"not  to  guess  why  I  wanted  a  taxi." 

Stella  clung  to  him  speechlessly.  She  did 
not  know  what  to  say;  she  only  knew  that  he 
was  there  and  that  the  desperate  loneliness  of 
the  empty  world  was  gone. 

She  wanted  to  speak  of  the  things  that  she 
believed  in,  she  wanted  not  to  forget  to  reassure 
him,  in  this  great  subdual  of  her  heart ;  but  she 
did  not  have  to  make  the  effort.  It  was  Julian 
who  spoke  of  these  things  first. 

He  spoke  hurriedly,  with  little  pauses  for 
breath,  as  if  he  were  running. 


352        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"I  know  now,"  he  said,  "I  Ve  been  a  fool 
and  worse.  I  saw  it  as  soon  as  I  looked  at 
you;  it  broke  me  all  up.  How  could  I  tell 
you  'd  mind  losing  a  man  like  me  ?  I  'm  glad 
it 's  dark ;  I  'm  glad  you  can't  see  me.  I  'm 
ashamed.  Stella,  the  fact  is,  I  gave  you  up 
because  I  couldn't  stick  it;  my  nerve  gave 
way." 

"I  shouldn't  have  left  you  so  soon;  it  was 
all  my  fault  for  leaving  you,"  Stella  mur- 
mured. 

"That  rather  gives  the  show  away,  does  n't 
it,"  asked  Julian  "not  to  be  able  to  stand  being 
left?" 

"You  weren't  thinking  only  of  yourself," 
Stella  urged  defensively. 

"Wasn't  I?"  said  Julian.  "I  kept  telling 
myself  I  was  behaving  decently  when  I  was 
only  being  grand.  Is  n't  that  thinking  of 
yourself?" 

"But  on  the  downs,"  urged  Stella,  "you 
were  n't  like  that,  darling." 

"You  were  on  the  downs,  remember,"  said 
Julian.  "I  got  your  point  of  view  then — to 
give  in,  anyhow,  to  love.  It  was  n't  easy,  but 
it  made  it  more  possible  that  if  I  did  n't  marry 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        353 

you,  you  only  had  hard  work  and  a  dull  life. 
It  seemed  different  when  I  heard  about  that 
fellow  Travers.  You  see,  that  cut  me  like  a 
knife.  I  kept  thinking — well,  you  know  what 
a  man  like  me  keeps  thinking — at  least  I  don't 
know  that  you  do.  It  was  my  business  to  fight 
it  through  alone." 

"No  it  is  n't,"  Stella  protested  quickly.  "We 
have  n't  businesses  that  are  n't  each  other's." 

"Well,"  admitted  Julian,  "I  could  n't  bear 
thinking  I  'd  cheated  you  out  of  my  own 
values ;  so  I  let  yours  slide.  I  knew,  if  I  gave 
you  the  choice,  you'd  stick  to  me;  but  I 
could  n't  trust  you  not  to  make  a  mistake. 
That 's  where  my  nerve  broke  down." 

"Ah,  but  I  didn't  know,"  whispered  Stella; 
"I  didn't  know  enough  how  to  show  you  I 
loved  you.  If  you  'd  seen,  you  would  n't  have 
broken  down.  I  was  afraid  to  try.  Now 
I  can.  All  these  six  months  have  eaten  up 
my  not  knowing  how."  She  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck  and  kissed  him.  "You  see,  I 
do  know  how!" 

He  held  her  close,  without  speaking ;  then  he 
murmured:  "And  knowing  how  doesn't 
make  you  afraid?" 


354        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

"It 's  the  only  thing  that  does  n't,"  said 
Stella,  lifting  her  eyes  to  his. 

The  taxi  stopped  before  the  door  of  the  town 
hall. 

"And  have  I  got  to  let  you  go  now?"  Julian 
asked  gently. 

"I  shall  never  really  go,"  Stella  explained; 
"but  you  can  let  me  get  out  and  tidy  up  the  sur- 
veyor's papers,  and  then  be  free  for  you  to- 
morrow." 

Julian  opened  the  door  for  her.  She  stood 
for  a  moment  under  the  arc  of  light  beneath 
the  lamp-post  looking  back  at  him. 

The  love  between  them  held  them  like  a  cord. 
Julian  had  never  felt  so  little  aware  of  his  help- 
lessness; but  he  wondered,  as  he  gazed  into 
her  eyes,  if  Stella  realized  the  bitterness  of  all 
that  they  had  lost. 

She  neither  stirred  nor  spoke.  She  held  his 
eyes  without  faltering;  she  gave  him  back 
knowledge  for  knowledge,  love  for  love;  and 
still  there  was  no  bitterness.  At  last  he  knew 
that  she  had  seen  all  that  was  in  his  heart;  and 
then  for  a  moment,  if  but  for  a  moment,  Julian 
forgot  what  they  had  lost ;  he  remembered  only 
what  they  had  found. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

WHEN  Stella  reentered  the  town  haU  the 
porter  was  still  sitting  at  his  desk  near 
the  door,  but  every  one  else  had  gone. 

"Oh,  I  hope  I  have  not  kept  you,  Humph- 
reys," Stella  said  apologetically.  "I  had  no 
idea  it  was  so  late.  I  '11  be  as  quick  as  I  can." 

"Mr.  Tr avers  is  still  in  'is  room,"  Humph- 
reys admitted  gloomily;  "  'e  came  back  an  hour 
ago.  Gawd  knows  how  long  'e  '11  be  at  it. 
There  's  been  a  tri-bunal  and  wot  not  this 
afternoon.  Talk  abaht  mud  in  the  trenches! 
'Alf  the  gutters  of  Lunnon  'as  been  dribbling 
through  this  'ere  'all.  I  Ve  asked  for  an  extra 
char,  an',  what 's  more,  I  mean  ter  'ave  'er. 
War  or  no  war,  I  '11  'ave  a  woman  under  me." 

The  surveyor's  office  was  empty.  Stella's 
papers  were  just  as  she  had  left  them,  but  her 
whole  life  lay  in  between. 

She  would  never  copy  the  surveyor's  plans 
again  or  do  the  office  accounts  or  look  through 
the  correspondence.  She  would  not  hover  in 

355 


356        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

the  drafty  passages  and  listen  to  the  grumbling 
Humphreys  nor  stand  outside  glass  doors  and 
help  bewildered  fellow-clerks  over  their  blun- 
ders before  they  went  in  to  face  a  merciless 
authority. 

She  would  probably  never  see  green  baize 
again.  She  tried  to  fix  her  mind  on  the  ac- 
counts, but  through  the  columns  of  figures  ran 
the  wind  from  the  downs.  The  half-darkened, 
empty  room  filled  itself  with  Amberley. 

She  tried  to  imagine  her  life  with  Julian. 
It  would  be  unlike  anything  she  had  lived  be- 
fore ;  it  would  require  of  her  all  she  had  to  give. 
The  town  hall  had  not  done  this.  It  had  taken 
the  outer  surfaces  of  her  mind,  her  time,  and 
much  of  her  youth :  but  her  inner  self  had  been 
free. 

It  was  not  free  now;  it  had  entered  that  dual 
fommunion  of  love.  It  was  one  with  Julian, 
and  yet  not  one ;  because  she  knew  that  though 
he  filled  every  entrance  to  her  heart,  though  her 
mind  companioned  his  mind,  and  her  life 
rested  on  him,  yet  she  was  still  herself.  She 
would  be  for  Julian  the  Stella  of  Amberley, 
but  she  would  not  cease  to  be  the  Stella  of  the 
town  hall. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        357 

She  would  not  part  with  her  experiences; 
poverty,  drudgery,  the  endless  petty  readjust- 
ments to  the  ways  of  others  should  belong  to 
her  as  much  as  joy.  Privilege  should  neither 
hold  nor  enchain  her,  and  she  would  never  let 
anything  go. 

She  would  keep  her  people,  her  old  interests, 
Mr.  Travers,  even  the  surveyor,  if  he  wished  to 
be  kept.  Stella  mightn't  be  able  to  impart 
them  to  Julian,  but  she  could  give  him  all  he 
wanted  and  still  have  something  to  spare. 
Julian  himself  would  profit  by  her  alien  inter- 
ests; he  would  get  tired  of  a  woman  who 
hadn't  anything  to  spare.  Stella  was  per- 
fectly happy,  but  she  could  still  see  over  the 
verge  of  her  happiness.  Joy  had  come  to  her 
with  a  shock  of  surprise  which  would  have  puz- 
zled Julian.  He  had  the  strength  of  attack, 
which  is  always  startled  when  it  cannot  over- 
come opposition.  Julian  never  cooperated 
with  destiny,  he  always  fought  it.  Sometimes 
he  overcame  it;  but  when  it  overcame  him,  he 
could  not  resign  himself  to  defeat.  Stella 
took  unhappiness  more  easily;  in  her  heart, 
even  now,  she  believed  in  it.  She  believed  that 
the  balance  of  life  is  against  joy,  that  destiny 


358        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

and  fate  prey  upon  it,  overcloud  it,  and  some- 
times destroy  it;  and  she  believed  that  human 
beings  can  readjust  this  balance.  She  be- 
lieved in  a  success  which  is  independent  of  life, 
an  invisible  and  permanent  success. 

She  did  not  think  of  this  for  herself,  it  never 
occurred  to  her  that  she  possessed  it;  but  she 
believed  in  its  existence,  and  she  wanted  it,  and 
sought  for  it,  in  every  soul  she  knew.  She 
wanted  it  most  for  Julian,  but  she  did  not  think 
it  could  be  got  for  him  to-morrow.  She  did 
not  expect  to  get  it  for  him,  though  she  would 
have  given  all  she  possessed  to  help  him  to  ob- 
tain it. 

She  only  hoped  that  he  would  win  it  for 
himself,  and  that  she  would  not  be  a  hindrance 
to  his  winning  it;  that  was  as  far  as  Stella's 
hopes  carried  her  before  she  returned  to  the  ac- 
counts. 

When  she  had  finished  the  accounts,  she  took 
them  to  the  town  clerk's  room. 

Mr.  Travers  was  sitting  as  usual  at  his  desk, 
but  he  did  not  appear  to  be  writing.  Perhaps 
he  was  also  doing  his  accounts. 

"I  'm  afraid,"  Stella  said  apologetically, 
"I  'm  very  late  with  these  papers,  Mr.  Travers. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        359 

I  was  detained  longer  than  I  had  intended." 

"I  expected  you  to  be  late,"  said  Mr.  Trav- 
ers,  quietly.  "In  fact,  I  should  not  have  been 
surprised  if  you  had  not  returned  at  all.  It  oc- 
curred to  me  that  you  might  not  come  back  to 
the  town  hall  again." 

"I  had  to  finish  my  work,"  said  Stella, 
gently,  "and  I  wanted  to  see  you;  but  after 
this,  if  you  and  Mr.  Upjohn  can  find  some  one 
else  to  take  my  place,  I  shall  not  return.  I 
know  I  ought  not  to  leave  you  in  the  lurch  like 
this  without  proper  notice ;  I  should  have  liked 
to  have  given  you  at  least  another  week  to  find 
some  one  to  take  my  place,  but  I  am  afraid  I 
must  leave  at  once." 

"I  think  I  can  make  a  temporary  arrange- 
ment to  tide  us  over,"  Mr.  Travers  replied 
thoughtfully.  "Your  leaving  us  was  bound 
to  be  a  loss  in  any  case." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment.  Mr.  Trav^ 
ers  still  sat  at  his  desk,  and  Stella  stood  beside 
him  with  the  papers  in  her  hand. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  think  I  took  too  much 
upon  myself,  Miss  Waring,"  said  Mr.  Trav- 
ers at  last,  "in  going  to  see  Sir  Julian  Verny 
this  afternoon.  It  seemed  to  me  a  man's  job, 


360        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

if  I  may  say  so,  and  not  a  woman's.  I  thought 
your  sister  had  done  enough  in  letting  you 
know  herself  how  gravely  she  had  misunder- 
stood us  all ;  and  if  I  had  notified  you  of  my  in- 
tention, I  feared  that  you  might  not  have  seen 
your  way  to  ratify  it." 

"I  am  very  glad  indeed  you  spared  Eury- 
dice,"  said  Stella;  "I  would  not  have  let  her  go 
to  Julian.  I  would  have  gone  myself;  but  I 
am  glad  I  did  not  have  to  do  it.  You  spared 
us  both." 

"That,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  "was  what  I  had 
intended." 

Stella  put  the  papers  on  the  desk;  then  she 
said  hesitatingly: 

"Mr.  Travers,  may  I  ask  you  something?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Waring;  I  am  always  at  your 
disposal,"  replied  Mr.  Travers,  clearing  his 
throat.  "You  are  not  an  exacting  questioner." 

"I  hope  you  will  not  think  me  so,"  said 
Stella,  gently;  "but  are  you  sure — will  you  be 
quite  happy  with  Eurydice?" 

Mr.  Travers  met  her  eyes.  She  did  not 
think  she  had  ever  seen  him  look  as  he  looked 
now;  his  eyes  were  off  their  guard.  It  was 
perhaps  the  only  time  in  his  life  when  Mr. 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE         361 

Travers  wished  any  one  to  know  exactly  what 
he  felt. 

"You  will  remember,  Miss  Waring,"  he 
said,  "that  I  told  you  once  before  that  I  am  a 
lonely  man.  I  have  not  won  affection  from 
people.  I  think  I  have  obtained  your  sister's 
regard,  and  I  am  proud  to  have  done  so.  I 
suppose,  too,  that  all  men  have  the  desire  to 
protect  some  one.  I  do  not  know  much  about 
feelings  in  general,  but  I  should  suppose  that 
the  desire  for  protection  is  a  masculine  in- 
stinct?" 

Stella  nodded.  She  wished  to  give  Mr. 
Travers  all  the  instincts  that  he  wanted,  and  if 
he  preferred  to  think  them  solely  masculine, 
she  had  not  the  least  objection. 

"I  see  that  you  agree  with  me,"  said  Mr. 
Travers,  with  satisfaction,  "and  you  will  there- 
fore be  able  to  understand  my  point  of  view.  I 
have  a  very  real  regard  for  Miss  Eurydice. 
Her  work  is  of  great,  though  unequal,  value, 
and  I  should  like  to  see  her  happy  and  com- 
fortable and,  if  I  may  say  so,  safe.  I  do  not 
think  that  the  life  of  women  who  work  in  pub- 
lice  offices,  unless  they  are  peculiarly  gifted  by 
nature,  is  safe.  I  may  be  old-fashioned,  Miss 


362        THE  SECOND  FIDDLE 

Waring,  but  I  still  maintain  that  woman's 
sphere  is  the  home." 

"I  am  glad  you  feel  like  that  about  Eury- 
diee,"  said  Stella,  softly. 

She  paused  for  a  moment.  She  wanted  to 
thank  him,  but  she  knew  that  she  must  thank 
him  only  for  some  little  thing.  The  greater 
things  she  must  leave  entirely  alone.  He 
trusted  her  to  do  this ;  he  was  trusting  her  with 
all  he  had.  She  must  protect  him  from  her 
gratitude. 

"Before  I  leave  the  town  hall,  Mr.  Travers," 
she  said,  "I  want  to  thank  you  for  what  I  have 
learned  here.  That  is  really  one  of  the  rea- 
sons I  came  back  to-night.  You  have  been 
such  a  help  to  me  as  a  business  woman.  I  am 
not  going  to  give  it  up.  I  shall  keep  all  that 
you  have  taught  me,  and  take  it  into  my  new 
life  with  me.  It  has  been  an  education  to  work 
in  your  office  under  your  rule." 

"I  am  glad  you  have  felt  it  to  be  so,  Miss 
Waring,"  said  Mr.  Travers,  with  grave  satis- 
faction. "I  have  devoted  what  talents  I  pos- 
sess to  the  running  of  this  town  hall,  under  the 
auspices  of  the  mayor,  of  course.  I  am  very 
much  gratified  if  my  methods  have  been  of  any 


THE  SECOND  FIDDLE        363 

service  to  you.  Our  relationship  has  certainly 
not  been  a  one-sided  benefit.  I  took  occasion 
to  say  to  Sir  Julian  this  afternoon  that  I  had 
never  had  a  more  efficient  secretary." 

"I  am  so  glad  you  told  Julian  that,"  said 
Stella,  smiling.  "My  work  with  him  was  only 
make-believe." 

"There  is  a  leniency  about  your  dealings 
with  people,"  Mr.  Travers  continued,  ignoring 
her  reference  to  Julian,  "which  sometimes 
needs  restraint,  Miss  Waring.  The  world,  I 
fear,  cannot  be  run  upon  lenient  principles. 
Nevertheless,  in  some  cases  I  am  not  prepared 
to  say  that  your  system  has  not  got  merits  of 
its  own.  I  recognize  that  personal  leniency 
modifies  certain  problems  even  of  business  life. 
I  should  be  apprehensive  of  seeing  it  carried 
too  far;  but  up  to  a  certain  point,"  said  Mr. 
Travers,  rising  to  his  feet  and  holding  out  his 
hand  to  Stella  to  close  the  interview,  "I  am 
prepared  to  accept  your  theory." 


THE  END 


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